


The Devil's Treachery

by petyrbaaaeeelish



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Betrayal, Character Death Fix, Dominance, F/M, I did warn you not to trust me, Kings & Queens, Makeup Sex, Manipulation, Mind Games, Multi, Redemption, Revenge, Shady Petyr at his finest, fix what D&D has done, guess who's back bitches, major character deaths, vengence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 85
Words: 269,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13616742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaaaeeelish/pseuds/petyrbaaaeeelish
Summary: Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?





	1. Prologue

**THE RED PRIEST**

**“** Lord of Light, give me the courage and the wisdom to do as you bid. Help me, I beg of you, so that I may bring life back to this man’s bones. I have seen your visions. I have seen the things to come: death and destruction, fire and ice, and once they all die away only then will _he_ appear.”

The bald-headed priest bowed his head, as he continued to knell on the floor. The fire blazed before him; white embers kindled in the blaze, while bright sparks of light flickered in the air. The priest sat still for a little while longer before he rose from the floor. The body was still there, Lord Baelish’s pale figure was laid out upon the table. His neck was severed; his eyes were shut. He smelt of death and decay. The priest laid a hand on the dead man’s chest, trailing his fingers down the silver scar that once cut the man in two. The priest shook his head and said, “I cannot do what you ask of me. This man has been gone for far too long.”

The fire erupted, igniting into a terrifying flame. “Very well, I shall do what you ask,” sulked the priest. He threw off the last of the tar black shroud and tossed it at his feet. Then he took a bowl of clean water and scrubbed away at the wounds. He hummed an old hymn, the one he used to sing when he was a small boy. It gave him hope, he felt he needed it now, more than ever before.

He stooped low over the figure, and placed both hands on his chest. Only then did he whisper a silent prayer. He felt a surge of power leave him, giving life to this man’s lifeless bones. Just when the priest felt the last of his strength leave him, did he hear a sudden gasp beneath him, and felt a violent shudder within the dead man’s chest.

Lord Baelish had awoken.


	2. Sympathy for the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

“I still don’t understand why you are doing this.”

“Why am I doing what?” I asked, as I looked down at my little sister. She looked especially grim today, dressed in black from head to toe. Her small, yet nimble hands were toying with the hilt of her valyrian dagger as she stared out in front of her.

“Why do you feel the need to send him all the way back to The Fingers? Couldn’t you just burn him like everybody else?”

“That’s because he isn’t like everyone else. He is the Lord and Protector of the Vale…”

“He killed our father,” Arya interrupted.

“He assisted in the murder, you mean. It was not him who cut him down in the town square. I was there…”

“So was I,” Arya said heatedly.

“Then you know it was Joffrey who demanded his head.”

“Why are you so quick to defend him,” Arya asked in an accusatory tone. She unsheathed the blade and flickered it between her fingers in an effortless manner.

“I am not defending him…”

“You are,” Arya interjected, and pointed the blade’s edge at me. “You were always a terrible liar.”

“I guess not much has changed then,” I replied, before I looked away from her. _Let her think what she will._

We were a few steps away from the open carriage now. Lord Baelish’s body was reposed at the back of the carriage, a coal-black shroud covered his frame.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked, once I lifted the shroud to see his face for one last time. It was deathly pale, his lids were shut- no longer would I be able to see those piercing blue eyes. His neck was severed to the bone, a ghastly sight. I had ordered the maester to redress his wounds, hoping it would make his wound look less unseemly- I was wrong. The strays of my fingers strayed along his collar, his satin doublet felt soft to the touch. Lord Baelish’s silver mockingbird pin was dutifully placed in the center of his collar, it glimmered in the first rays of light on this cool winter day. I unconsciously stroked his pin, feeling a strange connection with him for the final time. It seemed to claim me as its own, entreating me to remove it from Petyr’s lifeless frame. I looked around quickly and hurriedly unclasped it from his silkened doublet. With one last look at Lord Baelish’s face, I pulled the heavy fabric back over his head and turned away.

“What did you take?” Arya asked, as she scampered after me.

“Nothing.”

“I know you have something in your hand,” she pointed out.

“I don’t know what your talking about,” I shot back, after I dug my hand inside my pocket and deposited the pin there.

Arya shook her head in disappointment once she returned to my side. “We did the right thing you know.”

“I know,” I concurred. We began to trudge through the deep mounds of snow as we made our way into the forest. It had become a habit for Arya and I to visit Bran after the first gleams of dawn. He was always the same, an insenate being hardly aware of his surroundings; wordlessly clinging onto the aspen white tree as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. Bran was gone now- the small unruly boy I knew as a child was lost the moment he fell from the battlements on that fateful day.

“Do you think he will speak to us?” Arya asked, as we approached his small, decrepit figure.

“I hardly know,” I admitted. Bran continued to remain motionless at our feet, even when I crouched down in front of him to look him in the eyes. Bran’s eyes were the same, ghostly white and lifeless as he continued to fixate on the horrid features that was etched onto the Weirwood tree. “Bran? It’s Sansa. Can you hear me?”

“I’m here too,” Arya said softly. She placed her hand on her little brother’s shoulders, noting the chunks of frozen snow that had crusted over his crippled frame.

“Bran, you need to eat something. You can’t stay out here forever,” I entreated.

“His hands are frost-bitten,” Arya pointed out. Icy-blue fingertips nuzzled against the ghostly pale bark had made his hands looked wraith-like, as if they were no longer his own.  

“Bran, listen to me! If you stay like this, you will _die_. Do you understand me? I have already lost so much. I can’t lose you too.”

Bran’s head tilted away from the tree and slowly lowered down to see my face. The paleness of his eyes began to dimmer until I saw the familiar colour of his sable orbs.

“Bran?” I breathed from excitement.

“He will awaken,” he said woodenly.

“What?”

“He will awaken,” he repeated, but this time his voice sounded distant, almost unattached from his former self.

“Who?” Arya asked as she made her way around to face him as well.

Bran turned his face away, his eyes returning to that unnatural state the moment it locked eyes with the tree. In barely a whisper he replied, “The King of Ashes.”


	3. The Seeds of Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs with air before I slowly let it out.

_Where am I,_ I wondered, as I suddenly bent over to cough out blood. Thick clots of blood dabbled the palms of my hands and sides of my arms.

_Why is it so dark in here? Why is it so cold?_

It was impossible for answers to come to me while I continued to stoop forward and cough out more blood. Anymore of this and I feared my lungs would give way.

_I still don’t understand! Where am I?_

“Breathe,” said a velvety voice beside me. I felt a light touch at the side of my arm and I quickly flinched away from this stranger’s touch. The large hand returned to the side of my arm; I quickly smacked it away and shifted from the unknown figure.

_Who is that? Who’s touching me? And why can’t I see anything?_

“You must breathe,” chided the unknown speaker. “Yes, that’s right! Keep breathing, my son.”

My breathing was frantic, as was my heart which thumped hard inside my chest at a tremendous rate. What was worse, my mind was greatly agitated as a thousand questions came to mind.

“I imagine you are in shock, but you _must_ remain calm. So, for now just breathe.”

I did as I was told and breathed in and out till I gained some level of control. “Am I in hell?” I asked in a thin, raspy voice. My once deep sonorous voice was gone, much to my dismay.

“No. But I’m sure White Harbour comes close to it.”

“Funny. After everything I’ve done I thought I’d wind up in hell.”

“The gods have over plans for you, it seems.”

A coughing fit came over me again, forcing my entire body to slouch over in pain. I rubbed my throat painfully, feeling the deep scar that marked the width of my neck. It all came back to me now: The sudden darkness of the room, the coldness, the sharp sting of a valyrian dagger against my flesh, the hot pool of blood gushing out of a gaping wound. I remembered the pain and the anger and the fear, the love I had for her, even with my last breath. I did love her, more than anyone.

But my love for her had blinded me, it brought me to my knees in the middle of Winterfell’s court, begging for life. Sansa may have learned many lessons from me, after all, she learnt to outwit the very best, but she made one fatal error: never cross me and never betray me, because if I find out I will do anything in my power to make your life a living hell. In the end, Sansa proved to be a bad investment, and there is nothing I hate more than a _bad investment._ If only she knew what happened to Ross when she betrayed me, maybe then Sansa would have thought twice before she cut me down. As it is, I was thwarted by her own hand; it was her words that condemned me to my death. No matter, she will learn to rue the day; The Starks, the Lannisters, the Arryns, all of them are no longer safe from my wrath.

 

“So, I’m alive then?” I asked quickly, as my mind turned over a few insidious plots on the best way to destroy these noble families and bring them to their knees.

“The Lord of Light has brought you back for a-”

“I don’t care why he did it,” I blurted out. I didn’t want to hear a stupid speech on what some god had in mind for me. I have a will of my own, and I intend to use on my own accord. Only when I all of my enemies’ cold corpses are sprawled out across the floor will I mount those infamous marble steps and claim the Iron Throne as my own.

“But you must know why I brought you back,” the irritating man said beside me. I was becoming weary of his presence, and it had hardly been five minutes since I had been brought back to life, or whatever this was. My vision was cloudy still, but I could vaguely make out certain shapes and colours. I saw a silhouette of a man, dressed in a bright crimson red robe; his skin was dark like ebony and the top of his head was cleanly shaved. It was a great misfortune that he looked so much like Varys. I saw the shadow of his arm move towards me and then I felt his hot hand pressed atop my bare shoulder. “You’re our last hope,” he said, as he encroached upon my space. “Our best hope for restoring order to this world.”

“Has anyone told you who I am?” I asked in a drawl tone. “I’m practically the master of chaos.”

“You are our saviour.”

“The only thing I could ever save is my soul, or what’s left of it anyways. If you think I’m some kind of saviour than you’ve got the wrong man.”

“I saw you in the flames-”

“I don’t have time for this,” I droned. A loud groan escaped me as I heaved my weight slowly off the table, luckily for me the surface was smooth from all of the blood I deluged upon the table earlier.

“You shouldn’t move. You are not fully healed yet.”

“I’m fine!” I shot back, as my legs dangled over the table.

“And I still need to explain everything.”

I ignored him and let my feet touch the hardwood floor. My senses were coming back to me; I could feel the frigidness of the floor, the sound of a nearby fire cracking, the brush of cold air that billowed against my bare chest. I lifted out my hands since I still could not see clearly and took a small step forward, but my legs were inapt to sustain such strenuous efforts and I soon found myself falling towards the ground face first.

“I did warn you,” the tiresome man said as he lifted me off the ground and dragged me across the room until we were next to the fire, it was there that he practically threw me upon a chair and nearly cocooned me in thick layers of fur. “You must rest,” he chided, before he took a chair opposite mine and studied my cradled form with amusement.

“I’ve rested long enough,” I said from the corner of my mouth. “How long was I gone?”

“Gone?”

“Dead,” I said in the gravest of tones.

“Ah,” the red priest said in understanding. “No more than a week I say. Whoever killed you took the time to make sure you were all properly cleaned up and cared for, before they wrapped you up in that shroud over there and kept you in the wooden casket. Even your wound…” he hesitated and rubbed his neck as if the wound was his own. “… even the deep gash along your neck had been cared for… by a maester I think, since I’ve seen such works performed by them before. They intended to preserve your body for as long as possible. The only question is why?”

“Why are you so interested?” I asked, not liking the wistful stare he gave me.

“I am only curious. The Lord of Light doesn’t tell me everything,” he said smoothly, it was just the kind of illusive answer I would give to someone I wished to deceive. _I ought to be careful around him,_ I thought, noticing how those sable orbs darkened as they burrowed into mine. 

“But I thought you were one of his faithful followers,” I gibed, as I slowly worked my way out of the furry cocoon.

“I am. My name is Parcelle Nuntius. I am one of seven high priests from Volantis. I have traveled to Westeros to see R’hllor prophecy be fulfilled.”

“And what is this prophecy exactly?”

“It is a story of ice and fire,” he mused. He turned his attention to the flickering red flames as he continued, “There is a prophecy found in our ancient books of Asshai, it claims that after a long summer an evil cold darkness shall descend upon this earth. It is said that Azor Ahai will wield his flaming sword, Lightbringer, and he shall be reborn to combat this darkness.”

“And how do I fit into this equation?” I asked with vague disinterest. “I can assure you I am no Azor Ahai.”

“A day will come when there will be nothing left on this land, only death and destruction as far as the eye can see. You shall be an instrument for R’hllor, a weapon that he can wield for the good of the people, but your exact purpose for the days to come is lost to me.”

“So, you brought me back to life, but you don’t know why. Is that what your telling me?”

“I don’t know everything. I am only a messenger.”

“Then what does your god have to tell me?” I asked rather too sharply, after I unraveled the last strip of furry blankets that nearly entombed my wiry frame.

“You must unite the people… help those that are not able to help themselves. You must save those that are still living,” he entreated. “The night is dark and full of terrors, but you can act as their light.”

“You’ve got the wrong man,” I repeated, as I turned my head away from him and stared into the fire. “Do you even know who I am?”

“Our saviour.”

“No!” I snapped. “I’m Petyr Baelish, formerly the Lord and Protector of the Vale, Lord of Harrenhall and The Fingers. And if all was supposed to go according to plan I was to be Warden of the North, but as you can see by my scar here, not everything went according to plan.”

“Interesting turn of events?” Parcelle asked mockingly. He lowered his eyes to the floor as he observed, “You were murdered. A wound like that- someone clearly wanted you dead.”

“Yes, they wanted me dead,” I said bitterly. “They wanted justice… well, they had their turn to carry out their god given justice but now it’s my turn.”

“You will find very little pleasure in revenge,” the red priest said proverbially.

“Won’t I?”

“Valar Morghulis. Isn’t that what you men say in Westeros? Aye, and even beyond! All men must die, my son, but you have been given the chance to live again- take it.”

“I fully intend too.” A fire was burning inside of me now, hate was quickly consuming me like a devilish flame.  Noxious plots began to flicker across my mind’s eye, but a heavy knock on the door behind me thwarted my best efforts. I turned to look at the large, ominous looking door behind me, curious as to who this boorish creature was, that pounded on our door without admonish.

“Say nothing,” Parcelle warned, as he rose from his seat with a certain level of anxiety. I noticed he picked up a slender dagger from the wooden shelf above the fire and slipped it in an inconspicuous looking pocket in his large red robe. He unlocked three separate locks before he finally opened the door, and when he finally opened it he asked, “Yes, what is it you want?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Alright, who?” Parcelle asked, his foreign accent coming out stronger than ever.

“It’s more of a body- a dead one.”

“Your looking for a dead man?”

“The body of Lord Petyr Baelish has been stolen from our rooms. Have you seen anything suspicious lately?”

“You mean, have I seen someone carting of a dead man, then no.”

“Do you mind if I look around?”

“I do.”

The sharp piercing sound of a sword being unsheathed struck the air. “Do you _still_ mind if I look around.”

“By all means come in.”

The stranger strode into the door, his steps were heavy and sure. “Why is there blood everywhere?” he asked with an unsteady voice.

“I’m taking care of a patient. He has a condition where he coughs up a great deal of blood. I’m afraid it might be contagious-”

“Is that him there?” the churlish man interrupted.

“It is. I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”

“What’s your name?” The fully armed man asked, the moment he stepped into my view. His silver-sheened blade pointed at my face after he ordered me to speak.

“I’m afraid he doesn’t have a voice,” Parcelle piped up, as he stood next to the man. “He is in quite a state.”

I eyed the man in front of me, grimacing at the direwolf emblazed upon his chest. _He belongs to the_ _Starks,_ I realized, and that immediately set a vengeful rage inside of me, down to the very last bone.

“I know you.”

I slowly rose up from my seat while I gave him a death stare. I remained defiant even when he raised the blade to pierce me through the chest. His head suddenly ricocheted to the side as Parcelle knocked him at the side of head with a silver medicine bowl, forcing the man to lose his balance and tumble to the ground. The red priest leapt over him, unarming him in a matter of seconds and pinned his arms behind his back. “Quick! Hand me the rope over there!” He shouted and pointed to a dark corner where all his belongings were stored. Once I placed the said items in his hand, Parcelle swiftly tied the man’s arms and legs up, making it secure before he dragged him over to his abandon chair. “Lock my door,” he ordered, as he looked at me from the corner of his eye. “We can’t have any more intruders. Now, they’ll be looking for you as well as him.”

“I thought you were a holy man,” I taunted, as I staggered over to the door. My legs felt stiff and unused as I made my way to the other side of the room; I was leaning against the door heavily as I slid the locks in place one by one.

“I never said I was a holy man,” Parcelle replied over his shoulder.

“Are you going to kill him,” I asked gleefully, as I picked up the man’s sword with a direwolf sigil embellished on his iridescence hilt.

“The Lord of Light has told me many things, but some important details he has left out. I risked my life smuggling you out of their quarters. All night I waited for a single opportunity to slip into their room and pull you out of their casket without them detecting anything. It was only a matter of time till they found out, but I never expected it to be so soon. Still, there is still so much to know. Where were they taking you? Why were you so heavily guarded? What did they intend to do with your body?”

“And how long have I been gone?” I added. “And why did the Starks carry me out of Winterfell to take me to gods knows where?”

“Exactly!”

“And all our questions could potentially be answered by him,” I observed, as I studied the unconscious man slumped over the rickety chair. I pointed at the blackened direwolf sigil etched upon his smoky grey surcoat for emphasis, as I remarked, “He belongs to the Starks.”

“Revenge will not heal your wounds,” Parcelle warned.

“No. I have you for that,” I said slyly, before I swung my fist into the unconscious man’s face. _He was wrong, revenge is sweet._

 


	4. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

“What are you not telling me?”

“I don’t know what your talking about,” Jon shot out, as he watched the remainder of his men leave the King’s courtroom.

“First you bend the knee to a Targaryen without consulting _me_ or the other Lords and Ladies of the North, and now your telling me that you’re going off to war to fight some Night King.”

“He’s not _some_ Night King! He’s the greatest threat to mankind. And if we don’t fight him now while we still have a chance than it will be too late.”

“But your abandoning your people! Your abandoning me.”

“Believe me, I wish there was some other way, but I know that this is the right thing to do.”

“No, the right thing to do is to stay with your people. We chose you to be our _King,_ not some warrior-”

“Sometimes we have to be both!” he bellowed, his voice echoing around the immense courtroom. His harsh tone of command did not frighten me, however, it only angered me further.

“Jon,” I pleaded, as I took a step towards him. “You know father would have stayed.”

He looked pained by my words, his lip tightening with agitation. He looked away as he uttered, “I am not my father.”

“I know that-”

“Then stop comparing me to him!” he barked and threw his throne chair back in place, so he could walk away from me. “I’m going to the wall- or what’s left of it anyways. I’m not going to sit behind these walls and cower like some coward until the white walkers come. I know I promised to protect you, Sansa, but I also made an oath to protect my people, and that is what I must do. If I don’t come back-”

“Don’t say that!”

“If I don’t come back than the North is yours. You will be a good ruler, Sansa, I know it. Your decision to execute Lord Baelish for his crimes only proved that to me.”

I grimaced at the thought of it, wishing I didn’t have to be reminded of what I had done for _honours_ sake. It was decisions like that, I could only hope I would never have to make again, which is another reason why I wanted Jon to stay. “I need you,” I pleaded, as I grasped at the hem of his sleeve and tugged it needfully.

“You can do this, Sansa, I know you can. You’ll be strong without me.” I couldn’t help but remember the last time someone said those very words to me. For a moment I felt the rush of cold air that was inside the dark crypt of Winterfell, and the warm sensation that ran through me as Lord Baelish pressed his lips against mine. _It feels like ages since that happened,_ I pondered, as I slipped out of that brief reverie to find Jon standing in front of me with a look of concern.

“I think you should know Arya is coming with me,” he said softly, knowing I wouldn’t be pleased by the news.

“Why? I need her here to _protect_ me-”

“She’s not a protector,” he said with a thin wiry smile. “She’s a fighter.”

“Yes, I know that but-”

“I need all the help I can get.”

“You have Daenerys Targaryen,” I said bitterly. “And her entire army and two fully grown dragons. Really, Jon, what more could you want?”

Jon simply laughed at me, before he pulled me into his arms. “I’ll miss you, Sansa.”

“Then come back.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your best isn’t good enough. I want you to promise me.”

“I promise,” he said soberly, before he kissed me tenderly on my brow. “Take care of Winterfell for me.”

“You know I will,” I replied, as he slipped out of my arms.

“Goodbye, Sansa,” he said in a sorrowful tone, and turned to leave the courtroom without looking back.

I sighed and looked around the empty room, taking in the fact that it was finally mine. _Isn’t this what I_ _always wanted,_ I mused, as my footsteps echoed across the cobbled floor. Queen of the North, Lady of Winterfell, it was I ever dreamed of. Still, I felt so hollow inside and I couldn’t figure out why this was the case, as I stepped across the hallowed room, hating the eerie silence which lingered once everyone was gone and I was left with bitter memories and a tinge of regret. _Don’t look at it,_ I thought, as I passed the blood-stained cobbles in the center of the room, a reminder of the blackened body pressed against the floor as the last of Lord Baelish’s blood poured out from his severed neck. _Just look away, and everything will be fine,_ I reminded myself for the hundredth time ever since that fateful day. It was a lie, of course, it was never fine- not even when I pretended it to be. My mask slipped off once I past that dreaded spot, and I fought back a tear, for tears could do no good for someone who was already dead and gone. Tears would not bring him back, it would not lessen the pain or guilt I felt whenever I thought about it. It only brought forth questions of what could have been; what would have happened if I accepted his proposal and stayed by his side? Would Lord Baelish betray me like I had done? Or had he learned his lesson when he found out what Ramsay Bolton had done to me? It was so hard to tell, so hard to know what was right and wrong anymore.

I walked down the empty hallways soberly, noticing that every living soul was gone from the castle. Jon was the last to leave the stony battlements of Winterfell. _Arya didn’t even say goodbye,_ I mused, as I made my way to an open window in the hopes of waving goodbye. I looked out a frosty window, and to my annoyance I found that it would not open much to my dismay. The ice had frozen the hinges shut, so all I could do was stare out the crystalized window to see a large troop scattered across the lawn. I saw Daenerys Targaryen cloaked in silver and white, surrounded by her most trusted military men: Dothraki, Unsullied and a few noblemen from Northern houses who swore an oath to protect her, even my former husband Tyrion Lannister was there. They all looked enamored by her, none more than my own brother, Jon Snow, who stared at her as if she was the only source of light in this world. _Lord Baelish was right about them,_ I mused, as my nails rapped at the glass window. _Why must he always be right?_

I took in the sea of Northern men, Wildlings and half of the finest soldiers from the Vale all ready to join the fray. Still, Jon looked uneasy as he turned to look at the crowd. I knew what he was thinking, “It’s still not enough,” as his eyes trailed over the hundreds of soldiers that were lining up for war. It took a great deal of convincing on my part to leave some men behind, and he only conceded once I reminded him that Euron Greyjoy and his fleet were still a threat to the North.

“Lady Sansa,” a voice said behind me, as a Winterfell soldier strode towards with an uneasy air.

“Lawerance? You’re back already. So, it is done then?”

“No, my Lady. I bring you ill news, I’m afraid.”

“Go on,” I said in a steady voice, though I felt the last of my control slipping away like grains of sand.

“It’s my fault. I am the one to blame,” he explained. “I should have followed your commands-”

“What are you trying to say?”

“His body has been stolen from our rooms when we were at White Harbour.”

“What were you doing there? That is the complete opposite direction of where I asked you to go.”

“I know, my Lady. I intended to leave Lord Baelish’s body on a ship and have his remains delivered over the water rather than land. If the boat sunk than at least he would come to no real harm… he is dead after all.”

“I instructed you to deliver his body to The Fingers _personally,_ and you disobeyed my command.”

“And I have been punished for it, believe me! You see,” he paused, and cleared his throat before he tried again. “The day after the body was stolen I found my- my…” He froze, unable to utter the next few words with the same measure of control.

“What is it?” I asked sympathetically, as I saw his body tremble from the sudden emotions that overwhelmed him.

“My brother- I found my brother, Richard, lying next to the shore with his neck cut wide open all the way to the bone!” He wailed, before he tore at the collar of his surcoat and let it split it down the middle until the cloth was shredded into two pieces. “I’ll kill those bastards!”

 _I don’t believe it,_ I thought, _how can Richard die the same way Petyr did?_

“Lady Sansa, I ask permission to abandon my post and lead a search party to find those who are responsible for my brother’s murder.

“You know I can’t spare anymore men. I have so little as it is.”

“I beg of you,” he said, as he wrung the shredded cloth in the palms of his hands. “Let me have justice, or revenge… I just need to know what happened to Richie, please.”

“I just don’t understand. Why did they take his body?”

“I don’t know,” he said in a strained voice.

“Obviously these two different events are connected,” I pondered aloud. “We can’t find out one with out the other.”

“Give me some men and I will find out all the answers you need.”

“Very well, I’ll have them prepared for the journey by tomorrow morning. I’ll only spare you five men though.”

“That is more than enough,” he said quickly, and made his way to leave.

“And Lawerance!” I called out, since he was half way down the hall by now. “If you find Lord Baelish’s body… burn it.”

The soldier nodded his head in understanding, before he turned to leave. _I can’t let them find out the truth,_ I reminded myself, _once I retraced my steps._

A nervous fear griped me as I wondered what happened to Lord Baelish’s body. _Could they use this to black mail me,_ I deliberated. _Is this Petyr’s vengeance from beyond the grave?_

It certainly felt like it once I retraced my steps and found myself back in the courtroom. I went over to the throne chair and picked up a scroll of parchment paper before I dipped my quill pen into a container full of ink. _He will awaken,_ said a nagging voice at the back of my head. _But that’s impossible! I killed him- I saw it with my own eyes! Lord Baelish couldn’t rise from the grave, not with a wound like that!_ Still, the nagging sensation lingered at the back of my mind. Even when I closed my eyes to shut out the images which replayed in my mind’s eye again and again; the look in those tearful blue eyes as he drank me in for one last time.

“He will awaken,” I heard in the muffled lament as the wind brushed against the window panes. “He will awaken,” I heard as the sharp scratches of the metal nip scraped across the withered paper. “He has _awoken_ ,” I heard from the other side of the room, as Bran wheeled himself through the open doorway, “And he’s coming for us all.”

 


	5. Wicked Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

The crackling fire could scarcely be heard over Myranda Royce’s orgasm. I set her on a high, but it wasn’t for her benefit that I was fucking the very life out of her. It’s amazing what anger could do to your senses, making me bite down on the curve of her breast, hoping to leave a scar. My territory was marked, she was mine now, just like the rest of them would inevitably be.

I fondled her hardened nipples, wanting to hear her scream out my name. It boosted my ego whenever she moaned out, “Petyr,” from her kiss swollen lips. It wasn’t her voice I wanted to hear though, it never sounded sweet enough coming from her lips. If I could close my eyes long enough while I graze my bottom lip across her neck, I could almost picture another woman underneath me; glimpse a fiery shade of red in my mind’s eye with those pale frosty blue eyes.

“Don’t stop,” breathed the wanton woman beneath me, her hazy voice broke the spell. I groaned, not from the sensation of me being deep inside her, but for being a sucker to this pain- the remembrance of _her_ that stole me away from this pleasurable moment.

 _Not this time,_ I told myself, before I increased the pace to watch her come again. Her hands wrapped around the back of my neck for support as I thrust myself inside of her. She let out an elated cry, but it did nothing to soothe my nerves, it only angered me further.

 _If only I could lose myself in this moment,_ I thought, as she berated me with kisses. It didn't taste the same, it wasn't as tantalizing as hers. Myranda’s lips nibbled down the side of my neck, but my face was dead-set, stone cold as the fire that was quickly dwindling away in the far end of the room.

“Do it again,” she said hungrily. My lips tightened with annoyance, hating myself for having to go through it again,

“You don't even have to ask,” I said in a sultry voice, pretending I was the man that was undoubtedly attracted to this curvy, voluptuous woman with a never-ending desire for me.

I fucked her hard enough to tire her out, and only when she lay in my arms drifting off to sleep did I look out the window and take in the stars that stretched across the cloudless sky.

 _I wonder what she is doing now,_ I found myself thinking, it made me groan aloud and nuzzle my face in the woman’s breasts. It was no use, even when I was drifting off to sleep I could see her, feel her, hear her saying my name in the sweetest tones; the lids of her eyes blinking nervously at me as she faltered under my relentless gaze. The last image I saw was her timid expression as I approached her under the Weirwood tree. _At least in my dreams I could be_ _with her,_ I thought, as I lulled off to sleep.

* * *

  Greedy kisses across my jawline woke me up. I blinked open my eyes to see Myranda leaning over me, her fingers stroking my matted curls which hardened from the sweat from the night before. “Good morning,” she whispered, after she leaned her head back to fully take me in.

“Good morning, my love.”

“Oh? So, I’m your love now?”

“Weren't you always?” I teased. I leaned up against the headboard and pulled her body next to me. She let her index finger wander down the length of my scar, marveling at the silvery streak that ran from my neck to navel.

“It’s a miracle you're alive,” she mused. Her eyes looking almost sympathetic as she fingered the sharp folds of my skin.

“I’m more surprised by this one,” I remarked, and pointed at the blackened scar that stretched across my neck.

“Yes,” she whispered. “How _did_ you survive that?”

“Apparently the gods wanted me to live.”

She laughed, enjoying the occasional witty remark that escaped my lips whenever I was in good humour. “You know the men are scared of you?”

“Oh?”

“You practically came back from the dead,” she pointed out. “And then you have that man always following you around-”

“Parcelle?”

“They say he’s a devil worshipper!” she said with wide eyes. “They say the both of you will bring the Vale to ruin.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you have bigger plans than that.”

“Like?” I asked, as I brushed my tousled curls away from my face.

“I don't know,” she replied, after she shrugged her shoulders. “But I see the way you look… when you think I’m not looking. You sort of look cold… and angry.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” she answered softly.

“I live to serve Lord Robin and the Vale. I have no other plans than that one,” I said clearly. It was a lie of course, but Myranda wasn’t sharp enough to tell a truth from a lie.

“I know,” she breathed. “Sometimes I think I know you better than anyone here.”

I thanked her with a kiss and let my tongue roam around her mouth until she moaned with pleasure. _Let her think_ _what she will,_ I thought, after she went on her knees and crawled between my legs. _There is a game to play, and I intend to win._

* * *

 “How do we know he’s not a spy?” the Young Falcon asked, before his men cheered out all around him. “How do we know he won’t betray us as well?”

“Lord Baelish is loyal to me and the Vale-”

“Yes, but for how long?” he jeered.

“He has pledged his allegiance-”

“You trust the word of a whoremonger? Of someone who’s served on the King’s Council for God knows how long?”

“When I speak, Hardyng, I expect you to listen and not interrupt me. You may be my successor, but that does not mean you are the Lord and Protector of the Vale _yet_.”

“And it’s a good thing for him,” the brutish man said as he pointed his finger at me. “Or I’d throw him and that Red Priest out the moon door.”

“You only wish to destroy those who are loyal to him!” piped up Myranda. “So, you can take Lord Robin’s place.”

“A wench like you has no place here,” jibed the gallant squire with a charismatic air. His men around him were quick to cheer him on, it was clear who was the favoured leader of the Vale as their cries nearly shook the walls of the courtroom. “Just because you warm Lord Baelish’s bed doesn’t mean you have a say.”

“He’s right,” Lord Robin said as he rose from his seat. “Step down, Myranda. As far as we're concerned your father, Lord Royce, was a traitor to our cause.”

“I don't understand. What do you mean a _traitor?_ ” she asked in a trembling voice.

“It was your father that aided Lady Sansa in my attempted murder,” I piped up, weary of this conversation going on any further. “When I declared that the knights should return to the Vale after our job was done, Lady Sansa grew desperate- and the lies that were whispered in her ears by my enemies only quickened her need to be rid of me. When I asked Lord Royce to safely escort me back to the Vale at the eve of my execution he _refused._ And that refusal nearly cost me my life.”

“And for that reason, I declare today that Lord Royce shall be stripped of all his titles and lands. They shall be given to Harrold Hardyng-”

The cries from Myranda prevented the Lord of the Vale to go any further. He gestured to his guards to take her away before he continued, “In the hope that this act of kindness will build a lasting friendship between our two houses.”

“I live to serve you, my Lord,” Hardyng said with a hint of sarcasm. _I ought to be careful of this one,_ I silently noted, as I watched the man bend the knee to the young man who stood beside me.

“I wish to hear no more slander about Lord Baelish. He has pledged his allegiance to our houses and has demonstrated his loyalty by nearly risking his life. He shall demonstrate it further by taking on the position as our Master of Coin.”

“My Lord?” I interrupted. “Surely, you do not want me?”

“You have demonstrated your effectiveness at King’s Landing. And by all accounts my mother and father spoke highly of your skills. This winter will be long, and our resources are already thinning. I want you to be my financial advisor.”

 _I have not come this far to be a money lender again._ “But Lord Robin, surely-”

“This is not a discussion,” he interjected. “My decision is final.”

 _The boy really has grown,_ I mused. He was the same height as me now, and his time in the training fields and archery practice had finally payed off for he was now larger than most men, including me. _Why did I ever encourage him to fight,_ I wondered, as he descended the wooden steps to shake Hardyng’s hand. _I should never have left him along for so long. He is a man fully grown- a man who doesn’t need me whispering over his ears to plant plots and insidious schemes that would only bring people to ruin._

Myranda’s wailful cries outside the court only proved that. _Let her cry,_ I thought, _and once she’s done she’ll creep into my room like she always does. Maybe then I’ll have my fill._

My plan was simple: Take revenge on Lord Royce by fucking his daughter and stripping away all his lands and titles. When the time was right, I’ll send his pregnant daughter to Winterfell and let him be crushed by the truth that I am the father of her bastard child. _If only I could see his face,_ I mused, as I descended the steps to make peace with my enemy. _If only I could see all of their faces when they realize what’s coming next._

 


	6. Winterfell's Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Lady Brienne**

The smallest of smiles came across my lips as I looked out the window. I was seeing the unseen, that is the memories of not so long ago when Ser Jamie came back into my life.

I was remembering his face when he first beheld me; the way his features softened as he slowly took me in. How much he wanted to speak to me, but Lady Sansa held him back with her needless inquisition. She didn’t trust him, and why should she? He was known as the Kingslayer, a man without honour, and yet, I knew there was potential inside of him to be good- to do the right thing. I felt it in my heart that Ser Jamie was trying to do that now. Why else would he cross the walls of Winterfell alone and unarmed?

“We don’t need you,” my Lady said to the defenseless knight that stood before the court.

“Of course, you need me. You need all the help you can get.”

“You’re a Lannister.”

“Is that a crime?”

“You killed our men! You helped lead an attack against my brother, Robb. You slaughtered-”

“I did what I had to do to protect my family,” he interrupted. “And my name.”

“So, must I. You will be put on trial for your-”

“I did not come here to be put on trial as some war criminal!”

“Then you shouldn't have come here at all!”

“Can't you see I’m here to _help_ you! You have no idea what Cersei has planned for you!"

“Does she know you’re here?”

“Yes. And I almost died because of it. So, I advise you to untie me, so we can win this-”

“You do not tell me what to do,” she said coldly, it was as harsh as the winter storm that raged just outside our door.

“You're just like her, you know that? No wonder my sister was always so fond of you.”

“You will be silent!” she ordered with her hand in the air in open remonstration.

Jamie grumbled in his seat. He always hated when someone told him what to do, especially by a woman like Sansa Stark.

“My men want to hang you…”

Ser Jamie grunted and shook his head in pure annoyance.

“…and I want to see you punished for your crimes. My brother has suggested another plan for you, however.”

Bran wheeled himself in front of the council men until he sat right in front of Jamie. Both men eyed each other with curiosity before Bran spoke, “I know what you did.”

Ser Jamie tilted his head with bewilderment, a puzzled expression came across his face. “And what is that exactly?”

“The things we do for love.”

Jamie’s eyebrows raised in surprise, a fearful look came across his face for a split second.

“You pushed me through the window. You left me to die.”

“Look, kid, I-”

“But I’m grateful,” Bran interjected. “I have become the three-eyed raven because of you.”

“That’s great… right? Wait, what is that exactly?”

“I see visions of the past… the future. The things to come. You will not die today, Kingslayer.”

Jamie looked at Sansa with faint amusement. He knew there was a way out of this mess and he would take it willingly. “So, what have you planned for me?”

“You shall take me to the wall.”

“Bran, you can’t!” his sister wailed. “You have to stay here.”

“They need me.”

“I need you!”

“No, you don’t,” he said flatly. His eyes darted back to Jamie before he uttered, “But I _need_ him.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Jamie said gleefully, as he held up his tied-up wrists to the guards in front of him. He would live to see another day, and that was enough to put a smile upon his face.

“Lady Brienne,” my Lady said sternly, the harshness of her voice breaking me from my deep reverie. I turned away from the window to see her sitting at her desk with a quill pen in hand. “Have you heard a single word I said?”

“No, I’m sorry, Lady Sansa.”

“You have been acting rather strange lately, are you unwell?”

“I am perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It’s just that…” she paused and set her pen down with careful deliberation. “You seem rather distracted.”

I said nothing, I simply raised my head higher in defiance. _If she wishes to pry at my secret thoughts she will have to try harder than that._

“Ser Jamie,” she said with delicacy. “He seemed to look at you a great deal. Is there something going on between the two of you?”

“No, my Lady.”

“Because he specifically asked you to accompany him to the wall…”

My mouth gaped open, a sudden flushness rose to my cheeks. The sweet smile Sansa gave to me only made matters worse.

“I told him no, but in the end, it is your decision.”

“My place is at your side.”

“That is what I thought,” she replied, and picked up the quill pen again to resume her letter writing.

“Will you grant me the privilege to see him?”

“He is to speak to no one, while he is locked up in his prison cell. I can’t risk him escaping-”

“You can trust me,” I interrupted with a confident air. “I give you my word that I won’t let him escape. Besides, he seems more than willing to accompany your brother to the wall.”

“That is exactly the problem,” she mused. “I don’t trust him, Brienne.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as the idea consumed her. I walked over to her with a steady gait, and only when I stood firmly to her side that I requested, “Let me speak to him. Maybe I can help-”

“Alright,” she interrupted, and waved her hand towards the door. “Go quickly, before it is too late. They’ll be gone by tomorrow morning, and after that Bran’s life will be in his hands.”

“I will do my best,” I assured her, and made my way out of the room before she saw the nervousness that was quickly overwhelming me.

* * *

The iron gate swung open to let me into the inner room of the prison cells. The air was musky, as if rotting bones made the entire prison cell reek with an acrid fragrance. The guard ushered me forward, his heavy limp was a welcome distraction as I passed my way through the empty cells. We went down to the lower isolated levels where Ser Jamie was chained against the wall like a common criminal.

He was sniffling before he saw me, the cold artic air was already getting to him. Once he heard our footsteps he looked up and his expression was undoubtedly conflicted.

“Lady Brienne?” he remarked once I stood in front of the prison cell, and the guard slid between us to open the door. I walked through the door feeling like my legs were made of iron; the slamming of the door somehow muddled my nerves, as if the loud clamor was the same as my beating heart.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” he said sarcastically, as he eyed the guard hoping he would disappear. “Have you come to free me?”

“I have come by the request of Lady Sansa.”

“Does she have to send you? Couldn’t you come on your own accord?”

“Ser Jamie, please…”

“Why don’t you ask me why I’ve come here?”

I bit down on my lip, unable to say those words in a steady voice. His gaze was insatiable.

“I’m tired of us always fighting. For once, I want us to be on the same side.”

I looked up at him, but I was still unable to utter a single word. Silence fell over us, as we continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. It was only broken when Jamie uttered, “I asked her if you can come with me.”

“I know.”

“And, you will not come?”

“Honour compels me-”

“Fuck honour! I’m supposed to drag a crippled boy half way across the north just because he has some magical abilities to save us all. And I have this…” he held out his golden hand in the air with distaste. “So, we’re as good as dead.”

“Lady Sansa will send some of her soldiers to accompany you.”

“They may be soldiers, but they’re not as good as you,” he blurted out. His eyebrows lowered low upon his face as he silently scolded me with his pale blue eyes. “I need you, Brienne.”

I opened my mouth to rebut, but no words could come to me. His blue eyes softened with sympathy, sensing I was at loss for words.

The jingling of keys caught our attention as the prison guard stepped forward. ‘Your time is up.”

“Brienne,” he pleaded, as I made my way out the door.

“I swore an out to protect, Sansa. I can’t leave her now.”

“What about what I need,” he drawled, as I walked away from his cell. I took one last look back to see a sorrowful expression stitched upon his face before I made my way up the stony steps. “Forgive me,” I whispered under my breath the moment I stepped out of view, hoping I would not live to regret this day.

 


	7. The Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

I was frustrated to say the least. I had sacrificed _everything_ for my family, and when I needed them most they all left me. Whatever happened to the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives? Whatever happened to us sticking together to rebuild our ancestral home?

The only person I had left now was Lady Brienne, and even she's no help as of late. Ever since Ser Jamie left this morning she has been distance and uncommonly quiet. I only wish there was someone to talk too, someone to depend on. _I need a counselor,_ I thought, an idea that never ceased to stray from my mind. _Someone with a political edge, who knows how to manage a castle such as this, and more importantly knows what to do with all of these people!_

I looked around the barn yard, Lady Brienne was close to my side, eyeing the refugees with a protective gaze. Some of them came here because of the harsh weather, other were desperate for food and some form of shelter. They had come from all over the North to seek refuge in our walls, the only problem was there was not enough room for all of them.

“It’s as I told you, the barns are full,” Lady Brienne said with a great deal of uneasiness. “And if we keep this up there won’t be enough food to last the winter.”

“So, you’re my financial advisor as well.” My voice was full of spite as I uttered it, but I instantly regretted it once I saw the pained expression on my loyal knight’s face. “Forgive me, that was unkind.”

“It is forgotten,” she said woodenly, though she grinded her teeth in silent resentment.

“I just don’t know what to do,” I confessed, feeling overwhelmed by the crowd of hungry people staggering all around me. The borough was large, but not large enough to contain all of these people who continued to pass their way through our gates.

“What do you propose, my Lady?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I simply don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I hope I am not overstepping,” she said, and paused for dramatic effect. “But if you don’t figure out what to do soon, then our resources won’t last very much longer. Is there no one you can consult?”

“No,” I said wearily. _My family is all gone, who else is there to ask?_

 _Lord Baelish would know what to do,_ said that nagging voice at the back of my head. The same one that like to torment me at night as I tried to go to sleep. I thought it was my conscience at first, but I’m not entirely sure anymore. Would my conscience contemplate what would happen if Jon didn’t come back? Would it scold me for not taking up Petyr’s idea to be by his side as he mounted the infamous steps which led to the Iron Throne? Would it allow me to have those conflicting dreams where I give way to my desires and let him have his way with me, let his hands trail down my naked form as we ravished each other under the cover of night? Is that why I feel slightly relieved now that Bran is gone? The knowledge that he can no longer look into my eyes and read those forbidden thoughts or utter those fateful words that Lord Baelish proposed to me under the Weirwood tree: “And I only act if the answer is _yes_ , a picture of me on the Iron Throne and you by my side.”

 _Did he think I would say yes,_ I wondered, _was he so certain of my feelings towards him? Even when I was uncertain of how much I could trust him- how much I could love him again? It was love, wasn’t it? Or was it just lust that made me crave the taste of his lips, miss the softness of his touch whenever he held my hand in his own? Or that familiar presence as we strode side by side, like Kings and Queens?_

It was my anger that made me grow cold to his continual affections, but now that I had severed the tie completely, I was left with a hollow feeling- a gaping hole that needed to be refilled. I was still contemplating the matter when Lady Brienne positioned herself in front of me and gently remarked, “Perhaps, the Vale could help us,” reminding me of the present issues at hand. _Lord Baelish will have to wait,_ I mused, _let the memory of him haunt me at night like it always does._

“Could you ask them?” she asked me again, clearly determined to not drop the subject until it was resolved.

“No. I can’t ask for help… not anymore.”

“But isn’t Lord Robin your cousin?”

“He is, but-” I halted, knowing if I go any further I would have to confess the truth- the _whole_ truth.”

“Sansa?” Brienne said softly, the lids of her eyes batting slowly as she studied the sudden paleness of my face.

“I haven’t been telling the whole truth. I never told Sweet Robin that I executed Lord Baelish.”

“Then what did you tell him?”

“That he’s been ill,” I said guiltily. “I’ve been corresponding with Robin on Lord Baelish’s behalf, or at least someone who represents him. It was the only way I could make sure his army would stay at Winterfell. I needed them… Jon needed them. With the North and the Vale’s army joined together we’re practically invincible.”

“Yes, but you lied to him,” she reminded me in a stony voice.

“Everybody lies,” I said as an excuse. “That’s just how you play the game.”

“That’s Littlefinger talking.” Her face darkened with concern the longer she considered the matter. “You spent too much time with him.”

“I’m not like him if that’s what your implying,” I said sharply, and turned on my heels to get away from her. _First, I’m being compared to Cersei and now Littlefinger, will this ever end?_

“Lying to Lord Robin was a foolish decision,” she raped out, once she caught up to me.

“Only if I get caught.”

“Which you will-”

“Believe me, I already have,” I interjected. _She might as well know all of it._ “My men lost Lord Baelish’s body when I ordered them to take it back to The Fingers. Someone stole it from us, and so far we don’t know who did it, nor who is behind the murder of one of my men who was in charge of his body, so believe me, Brienne, Lord Robin is bound to find out the truth.”

“Then you must tell him before it is too late!”

“What is the point? I’m just a stupid girl who never learns. I try to be clever and move things to my advantage, and look where its got me? If only Petyr was here, he’d know what to do.”

“Petyr?” she asked, her voice higher than usual. “Since when did you call him that?”

“I don’t know… it just sort of slipped out,” I lied.

“Slipped out?” she said with disbelief.

“I don’t understand why it matters? It’s just a name.”

“Sometimes there is power in a name,” she reasoned. “It can take on a whole new meaning, especially the way _you_ said it.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, as I edged myself closer, daring her to continue.

“Like you have some sort of affection for him,” she said with disgust.

 _Of course, Brienne would say such a thing,_ I mused, after I shook my head at her.

“It’s not like that,” I assured her, before I continued my walk around the barn.

“Well, if you ever said his name like that in front of him I’d be surprised if he kept it together.”

“I never did,” I professed. “It was never like that. We weren’t…”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” she exclaimed. “Just tell Lord Robin the truth. He’ll understand if you explain the circumstances.”

“You don’t understand,” I moaned, after I halted in front of her. “They were so close… Lord Baelish and Robin. If I tell him the truth I could lose everything!”

“Yes, but if I may speak so boldly, that’s the risk you will have to take. Otherwise, you may run the risk of Lord Baelish’s body being delivered to his doorstep, and then we’re really in-”

“Trouble,” I finished for her. _Losing the knights of the Vale will be the least of my worries,_ I thought, as my chapped lips puckered over with fear.

 _A missing corpse and a mysterious death, Brienne is probably right about this one,_ I deliberated, _I think its high time I send Lord Robin a raven._

 


	8. Valar Morghulis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

“I have your Queen,” Robin jibed, as he held out my conquered piece teasingly.

I grunted as he shuffled it amongst the other stolen pieces. My king was still alive, but for how long it was hard to tell.

“You are playing well today, my Lord,” I said smoothly, though I continued to stare at the Queen with a jealous eye. “I’ve never had much luck with women.”

“You did with my mother.”

“Yes, she was an exception.” _An exceptional nuisance that is._ Never was I so happy to see her plummet through the moon door, it was enough to bring a smile to my face.

There was a knock on my chamber room door, so I got up from my seat to inquire who it was who rapped so softly we could scarcely hear it at all. I opened it to find a small, mousy girl with large black eyes. She looked at me wordlessly, but I knew what she wanted.

“A debt has been payed,” I whispered, and pressed the required payment in the palm of her hand. “Valar Morgulis.”

She blinked at me before she took her leave, soundless footsteps made me wonder if she was a ghost before she turned down the hall.

“Who was that?” Lord Robin asked, as he fell back into his seat. It was obvious he caught side of the girl, and now the sight of the girl peaked his curiosity.

“No one.” I slammed the door behind me. “It was just business. Nothing to concern you.”

“She was as quiet as a mouse,” he remarked, after I returned to my seat.

“Servants often are.”

“She wasn’t very pretty,” he contemplated, as he held up his pawn over the chessboard. “None of our servants are pretty.”

“That’s because they’re servants,” I said smoothly, carefully watching the position of his white pawn as he set it down on the board.

“There is only one person I find pretty, but you won’t like it.” He snatched another of my pawns off the board. _Things weren’t going my way at all,_ I mused, as he dropped another one of my pieces on the table beside him.

“If you wish to spend a night with Myranda, you need only ask.”

“No, it’s not Myranda,” he blurted out, as he stroked the short stubbles along his chin. He let his hands fall upon the table, before he picked up the Queen. “It’s Sansa.”

My mouth twitched, a darkness flickered over my eyes as a maddened spirit came over me. “Sansa,” I growled, and fisted the Bishop in the palm of my hand.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“No, you mistake me. I am pleased,” I lied. “Does Lady Sansa know your intentions?”

“No, but I will propose to her soon.”

I swallowed hard, seeing the veins in my fist pulsating fiercely, even my knuckles were taking on a ghostly hue as I strangled the chess piece to death.

“I received another letter from her,” he noted, and pulled out the said document from his cloak. He spread it out across the table and pointed to the bottom half of the note. “She mentioned you a great deal.”

“Oh?” I said with surprise, though I already knew what was inside that document. The one in Robin’s hand was a forgery, the real one had been incinerated in my fireplace only a few hours ago. It was a pity I had access to the maester’s rooms, even more so when I could read Winterfell’s letters, forge it to my liking and correspond with Sansa under the guise of Lord Robin’s representative. _If only Sansa knew,_ I thought, as a fiendish smile slowly crept across my face.

“She still wants the Knights of the Vale. What do you think, Uncle Petyr, should I let her?”

“What do you gain if you let her have them?”

“Her favour.”

“And what else?”

“Admiration.”

“Feelings aside… what else do you gain?”

“A political alliance.”

“A strengthening of it,” I said from the corner of my mouth. “And a likely acceptance to your marriage proposal.”

The boy nodded his head in understanding, while he fidgeted with the Queen. He frowned suddenly and uttered, “She tried to kill you.”

“Only from fear. She is not a bad woman, just a little protective of her family… her home. It was a mistake to be so influenced by my enemies. I believe she is starting to realize that now.”

“She said something like that in her letter here,” the young lord said, and pointed at the bottom of the page for emphasis.

“Did she now?”

“She says she wishes she had an advisor like you. Should we tell her the truth? That your still alive?”

“That is a risk,” I replied, before I licked my bottom lip. “Can she be trusted with this secret?”

“She’s bound to find out at some point. Especially when I send her more men.”

“You are quite right,” I answered, and nodded my head in approval. “The decision is yours, my Lord.”

He scrunched up his face as he contemplated the matter, spinning the Queen around his fingers. “Will she kill you?”

“Again? No, I don’t think so.” _And if she tries I have my men to protect me, and my spies to keep me on guard._

“I wanted you to be my financial advisor…”

“I can be both,” I assured him. “After all, I am a man of many talents.”

“If you go, will you let her know my intentions?”

“I will.”

“Very well. I’ll send her a letter! If she consents to my demands, then you shall be off for Winterfell by a fortnight.”

 _Watching my plans come into fruition is quite something, I_ pondered, as I crossed my legs and reached over the table to strike down another of Robin’s pawns. _I’m sure I’ll enjoy every minute of it._

 


	9. Falling into Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

“Are you alright, my Lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

I laid the letter down on the table, curling the right corner between my fingertips, only then did I look into her sea blue eyes, and for some reason I thought it resembled my consciousness. Lady Brienne had come to by my friend, my confidant, but there was an unseen barrier between us: she always chose to see the light in me- not the darkness. Perhaps, that is the reason I stealthily rolled up the letter, and locked it away in my drawer, while she watched me with some level of suspicion.

“I’m fine,” I assured her, once I stuffed the key into my pocket. “It’s just-“ I paused, contemplating a feasible excuse to satisfy her curiosity. “I’m worried about Bran. I know Arya and Jon can take care of themselves, but Bran…”

“Is a cripple,” she said lightly, hoping to ease the momentary silence between us. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“He was right, you know? I don’t need him. But I think- I think he needs _you._ ”  

“Sansa?” she asked, quite forgetting her usual decorum. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I think you should go. I think you should help them go to the wall.”

“It’s been weeks since they left Winterfell. It would be a miracle if I found them, if I find them at all! And even if I did, I wouldn’t be much help to them. I’d be more useful here.”

“But I don’t _need_ you.”

“My Lady?” she said painfully, her eyes dropping to the empty desk in front of us.

“I have men here to protect me. Bran only has three guards and a _Kingslayer._ ”

Her face darkened now with resentment, her lips pursued tightly as she endured another slight. _Good,_ I thought, _maybe my plan will work after all._

“You swore an oath to protect me.”

“I did,” she spat out. “And I will keep that oath.”

“I know you will, but I need you to protect my brother as well. I have already lost too much, and I can’t bear to loose another brother- not after Rickon. I know you will serve him well, just as you have served me.”

Lady Brienne got up from her seat and paced around my small solar solemnly. _She doesn’t’ want to leave me,_ I realized, _but she must._

“I know you will keep Ser Jamie in line,” I rapped out, noticing the way her feet halted in place once I mentioned his name. _Ah, so she likes him more than she lets on,_ I mused. “And if you are there I know Bran will come to no harm.”

“Yes, but you are asking me to choose between you and your brother,” she said with dismay.

“I know,” I replied, as I got up from my seat. _Once you know what a man wants you know how to move him, or in this case ‘her’._ “But I also know that you will perform the task _honourably,_ and will show Ser Jamie how a true knight conducts themselves.”

“Ser Jamie is a good man,” she said softly. “In spite of his reputation.”

“He will have to prove it to me! He will have to help Bran get to the wall… with _your_ help.”

“How will I ever find them?” she confessed, proving to me that she was already stumbling into my carefully laid out plan.

“My brother has a sled, remember? They can only go so far. And I shall give you the fastest horse Winterfell has.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” she said softly, a small smile graced her face. “I won't let you down.”

“I know you won’t.”

Her hand was on the door knob when she turned around, she hesitated and then uttered, “If I don’t return it was because honour compels me to fight for your kin. Once I reach the wall, it is unlikely that I shall ever come back. And if what Jon says is true… that this is the last barrier to stand in our way from the White Walkers, I want you to know I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” I fretted, noticing the nervous shake in my voice. “Goodbye, Lady Brienne, and thank you.”

She nodded her head sharply, before she whisked out the door. _I hope I haven’t made a mistake,_ I thought, once I turned around and made my way to the desk. _But I can’t risk her being here, if the contents in that letter wind up to be true._

* * *

A heavy thump on the door shook my entire chamber room, thus, rousing me out of a deep sleep. My eyes blinked open to find myself in a darkened room, my head throbbing while I wondered who had the nerve to disturb me in the middle of the night.

“Lady Sansa,” a guardsman said with a great deal of uneasiness, once I opened the door. “The Knights of the Vale have just arrived.”

I blinked up at him, wondering why he woke me up just to tell me that, when he could have informed me in the morning. Sensing my wordless thoughts he added, “With Lord Baelish, my Lady.”

I mouthed an ‘O’ once I finally understood what he was saying. _So, everything in that letter really was true!_ Reading it on paper was one thing, but seeing the frightened look on my guards man made it all surreal. “Are you certain it’s him?” I asked, hoping this was just a terrible dream.

“I swear to you he is standing in front of the courtroom right now, heavily guarded by my men. He requests to see you. That is the only reason why I would wake you up in the middle of the night.”

“For which I am grateful for,” I assured him. “Keep him there. I’ll be there shortly.”

Once the door was closed, I leaned against it and tried to catch my breath. _He’s here,_ I panicked, _he really is alive!_

I ran towards my chest and rummaged through it till I found something decent to wear. All the while, my mind was spinning with a thousand questions: Why did he come back? How is he alive? Were the contents in the letter really true? Was he really sent here to be my advisor? Or is this a trap? A hoax so he can get what he really wants?

 _But what does he want,_ I wondered, as I thrust open the door and briskly strode down the halls. _I knew what he wanted before, but now I’m not so sure._ My hands quickly stroked back my auburn tresses, it was wild and untamed since I didn’t have time to arrange it in my usual fashion. _I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea,_ I thought, as my hair cascaded down my shoulders and down my back. I must have looked frazzled by the time I approached the guards, for they shot me a curious stare before they positioned themselves in front of the door. The very same guard as before took his place by my side and uttered, “He’s inside, my Lady. I made sure he is unarmed, so he will not hurt you.”

“That’s the least of my worries,” I said sharply, before I motioned them to open the courtroom doors wide enough to see a room full of knights and Lord Baelish proudly standing in the center of it all.


	10. Falling out of Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

I could feel a tightening in the inside of my left arm once Myranda caught sight of her. Myranda’s protectiveness was amusing, but that thought did not hold for long, everything dwindled away the moment Sansa Stark’s eyes locked onto mine.  

The breath in my lungs was held for a moment as I took in her breathtaking appearance, she was _so_ beautiful, not even my hatred for her could deny her untamed, natural beauty as she strode into the room with a confident air. I shut my eyes for a moment, hoping my heart wouldn’t sway at the sight of her, but it rammed against my chest unwillingly. _Hate her,_ I told myself, as I tried to stroke the vengeful flame inside of me, but when I opened my eyes to see her in front of me I could feel my resolve shaking.

Her eyes scanned over me in disbelief. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, perhaps, realizing some things were best left unsaid. Her eyes flickered over to Myranda, who continued to link arms with me, and then returned her attention to myself with a look of complete bewilderment.

“So, it’s true,” she breathed. “You really are alive?”

“I am,” I said in a clear voice.

“How?”

“Apparently, the gods wanted me to live.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh?” I said, the corner of my lip reluctantly curling into a playful smile. _It feels just like old times,_ I thought, as I looked at her puzzled expression with amusement. “What don’t you believe?”

“I saw you die.”

“I did,” I solemnly replied, with a voice that was too low for my liking. _And it was you, my love, who had a hand in my death._

“I had no other choice,” she confessed, as if she could my sense where my thoughts were turning too.

“We all have a choice, Sansa.” Her name reluctantly escaped my lips, and the sudden realization made my mouth twitch with frustration. My error hung in the balance of our silence, tottering in the frigid air as I realized that Sansa was still my weakness. _Will I ever learn,_ I thought, as I heaved my chest waiting for her to say something to break the awful silence between us.

“I did have a choice,” she concurred. “But so did you! You could have _saved_ my father, instead of betraying him.”

“If you could have just let me explain,” I said bitterly, as I took a step forward. The guards circled around me, but Sansa was quick to wave them away.

“Nothing can excuse your actions.”

“Can’t it? You know as well as I do that your father was an awful player-”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?” I growled. My patient was thinning with her, and it only grew worse when I blurted out, “Or have you forgotten that it was I who saved you from the Lannisters? I who brought you to safety from the Vale? I who saved your life minutes before you flew down the moon door, because some jealous woman couldn’t bear to see me pay any attention to you?”

She puckered her lips, clearly aggravated by the sudden malice in my voice. I took another step forward, encroaching into her space before I uttered, “If it hadn’t been for me you would have died at the battle of the Bastards, and your precious family name would have gone to dust. You care so much about protecting your family, that you had forgotten that I pledged my allegiance to House Stark… to you, Sansa.”

“You-” she stammered out, her face turning a bright shade of red the longer she looked into my austre eyes. “You…”

“I what?” I berated her.

“You gave me to the Boltons.” It was a feeble excuse, and she knew it too, for she wrung her hands nervously as the silence stretched between us again.

“You and I know that isn’t true,” I said in a raspy voice, the corner of my mouth barely moving as I uttered it.

“You have no idea what he did to me,” she wailed, her hands now pulling at each other as the suppressed memories came forth in a sudden fury. “I hated you. Every time he touched me, cut me, raped me, I cursed your name.”

“I am sorry, Sansa,” I breathed. “I didn’t-”

“You said you would protect me!”

“And I have! I did!” I exclaimed. _How does this woman manage to get under my skin every single time?_ “I’ve done everything to write my wrongs. I protected you… saved you, more times than I can count. I even gave you back Winterfell, and I asked for nothing in return.”

“You did!” she shrilled. “You did ask something in return.”

“No. It was a proposition, one you only needed to stretch out your hand and take. But, you didn’t,” I said resentfully. “And still, I was willing to serve you. Still, I was willing to stay by your side.”

She started to cry, all of our heated emotions had brought her to a breaking point. I had never seen her cry before, not like that. In Moletown her eyes were dewy and swimming with tears, but it was nothing like this; her pale cheeks were drenched with fresh tears, dripping down her chin and falling to the floor- the same floor that she had cut me down not to long ago. “I’m sorry,” she wailed, her voice slightly muffled by her thickness of her sleeves as she covered her face in it. “But I had to do it… I had to _kill_ you.”

I was silent as she continued her reign of tears, her cries echoing off the chilled walls of the courtroom, mingling with the harrowing breeze outside the glass windows. The room was silent, all eyes were on her, but no one knew exactly what to do. I knew what I wanted to do: comfort her, and hold her in my arms until her grief was soothed into a manageable state, and yet, I also wanted to bring down all of hells fury on her until she had a small inkling of what I went through- of the pain I felt when she betrayed me. As I watched her sleeve wipe away the last of her tears I wondered how it was possible to love someone and hate them at the same time?

“Forgive me,” she said, the sound coming out of the last of her muffled cries. She removed her sleeve from her face and looked up at me with swollen red eyes. “Please, forgive me.”

“No.”

 


	11. The Demon's Pantomime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

“What did you say?” I asked, while batting my eyelashes at him in surprise.

“I said no,” he drawled, his head tilting to the side while he studied me. “I didn’t come here to forgive you.”

“Then why did you come?”

His hands raised in the air, barely hovering over the sides of my arms. “I came because you _wanted_ me too,” he whispered, so only I could hear it.

I gritted my teeth, hating the closeness of our bodies, the very words that he said. I looked up at him and saw a wicked grin spread across his face. _He knows._

“I’ve been told you wanted an advisor,” he said, the lids of his eyes blinked slowly, the blueness of his orbs covered for a moment. “I’d like to take up that offer. I was hoping- we could have a moment to talk in private, away from the others. Maybe then, I’ll have time to explain everything.”

I stared at him, uncertain if I could trust everything he said- everything he did. His hands were now resting at the sides of my arms, and for some reason it felt strangely familiar. _I should tell_ _him no,_ I thought, but the look in his eye made me want to do the opposite.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said softly, hoping only he could hear it.

He looked downward, focusing his attention on his right hand that was gently grazing my right forearm. He was thinking, but where his thoughts were turning too, I could hardly guess.

“Remember when I told you everyone is your friend _and_ your enemy? Think of me that way. I will work in your best interest, but I won’t _forget_ what you’ve done. Remember that.” He lifted his hands off of me, and interlaced them together beneath his chest. “I learned a very valuable lesson that day. You’ve learnt to outwit the very best. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I could cut you down right now, if I wanted too.”

“Your right. You could give the order right now. Murder me in cold blood, but…” he paused, and tilted his head downwards with a sly smile. “I know that you need me.”

_I need his men he means, and he knows that all to well._

“So, what do you say, Sansa?” he asked, before he held out his hand in front of me. “Let us forget the past, and start a new alliance between House Stark and House Arryn.”

_He hasn’t changed at all,_ I mused. His hand was held in the air for a moment longer, before I placed my hand in his. He shook it at first with a satisfied grin, but then his hand stopped shaking and he just held it in suspended animation, taking in the sight of our hands joined together. He suddenly released his grip and let it drop to his sides.

“I am tired,” he drawled. “If it pleases you, I’d like to retire for the night.”

“Of course, but you will understand if your rooms are heavily guarded.” _A veiled threat,_ I thought, as I took a step away from him.

“I would expect no less.”

“Then I bid you goodnight,” I said sternly.

He offered me a small smile, though his eyes were as cold as ever. “Come, Myranda,” he said, and turned to take the girl’s hand in his. “I think it’s about time you tire me out,” he whispered into her ear, though I heard it nonetheless.

The girl’s frightful giggles only aggravated me, as they took their time heading to the door. I rolled my eyes when I heard her squeal, probably from something Lord Baelish said the moment they were out the door.

_I hate him,_ I thought, as I motioned the guards to follow me back to my chambers.

 


	12. The Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Tyrion**

Hot mist rose from the mound of yellow snow. I didn’t think it was possible for my cock to freeze, but it did. Stuffing it back into my trousers, I bent down to wipe my hands off in the clumps of snow.

_What I wouldn’t do to be between a woman’s breast right now,_ I pondered, as I made my way back to camp. There were no women here, except for Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and she was already preoccupied warming the King of the North’s bed. It was only logical, an alliance that would merge two powerful houses to bring the Lannisters’, and ultimately Ceresi’s reign down. Still, there was complications. It would not be a smooth sail for these young lovers, despite of how they feel towards each other.  

It was noon, and the sun was still high up in the sky. Another cloudless day, bless the seven! But there was an ominous gloom to the few scattered clouds in the steel grey sky. Sometimes, in the darkness of night when there is not a gale in the wind, I can hear something- something evil lurking from beyond our sight, high-pitch squeals that sounded like ice shattering into a thousand pieces. Each day as we edge ourselves closer to the wall, the sound grows in strength.

I edged closer to the camp, they all stared at me: Wildlings, Northern men, even the Unsullied. An imp was an unusual sight, especially so close to the wall, and there was only one famous dwarf in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and that was me.

“It’s nice of you to make it,” Lord Varys said, as he slipped out of the crowd and took his place by my side. “We need all the help we can get.”

“What’s the use?” I said drearily. “I’m the Hand of the Queen and she hardly listens to me now.”

“Yes, you’ve been replaced,” he said slyly. He almost blended into the surroundings with his raiment all in white, even the funny-looking cap that he wore matched his eccentric apparel.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m second guessing my usefulness here. What good is a dwarf in a war like this? The war against the living and the dead, they call it. Well, I’ll probably be dead within the first five minutes of it.”

“Oh, you never know,” Varys quipped, as he held open the woolen drapes for me to pass through. “You might just slip by them unseen.”

“Because I’m a dwarf? Funny.”

“Our weaknesses can be an advantage, it is only a matter of perspective.”

“And what advantage is there in being a cockless man?” I rapped out, after we took our seats on the frozen logs.

“Well, for starters…” he paused, as the rest of the Queen’s council flooded into the tent. Jon Snow and Daenerys strode into the tent side by side, reaffirming their unsaid alliance. “My decisions won’t be guided by my cock.”

I smiled at Varys, understanding exactly what he was implying. The room was almost full, the heat from the fire in the middle of our circle began to thaw my frozen feet. It was the only benefit to our regular meetings, which usually contained a monotonous speech given by the King of the North, reiterating the fact that the Night King was coming. _If only they could give me some food I might be able to enjoy this more. And a cup of wine, make that five cups and I might actually prove myself useful._

“We are at war,” Jon Snow bellowed, ultimately silencing the room. “You may not see the danger yet, but it is coming for each and everyone of us.”

I stretched out my hands to the fire, already contemplating the warmth I left at Winterfell. Even that wasn’t warm enough, no the last time I was truly warm was at King’s Landing. How far away that seems now? Some shuffling of feet around me recalled my attention, as a “scavenger,” or at least thats what I called them walked into the center of the circle.

“It’s true, I left my men,” he said loudly, addressing the audience with some tone of command. “In the middle of the night I ran. I left them to die. There was something in the woods, in the air- I could feel it. And the sounds, like glass shattering, smashing into pieces it was _everywhere._ ”

“And you left them to die,” Jon Snow said coldly. “You set out to survey the Wall, so we at least know what we are walking into-”

“Death,” he said, hot air shooting out of his mouth as he uttered it.

“We weren’t even close to the Wall. We were at the very tip of the Long Lake, not too far from the King’s Road. I don’t think they are close to The Wall, my Lord, I think they’re _passed_ it.”

“But that’s impossible! There is no way they could past that wall, not when it is so heavily defended.”

“An army of the dead, and you second guess them passing a man-made wall?” I asked, feeling all eyes turn in my direction.

“There is magic that protects it.”

“Some magic fails,” Queen Daenerys said, speaking for the first time since she entered the tent. “And some magic grows stronger.”

“Even still there is no way they can pass that wall. What we must do is move the men faster-”

“That will only tire them out,” she interjected, unafraid to cut the young King off.

“We are Northmen, we are used to the cold. A few more miles will not kill us.”

“But my men are not!” she snapped. “Where my men come from it is always summer. I am surprised they have lasted this long and are willing to stay by my side. But if we keep pushing them-”

“We are not pushing them,” he argued. There was a sudden tenseness in the tent. _Lover’s quarrel,_ I thought, and shot Varys a knowing look. His queer expression almost made me laugh, but my hand was quick to snuff it out.

“I suggest an alternative route. I will take Drogon and we shall fly to the wall. No more of our men should be sacrificed to spy out the area, we have lost so many men already. Besides I have a dragon, what harm can they do?”

“You forget what the Night King had done to-”

“I have not forgotten,” she said in a strained voice. “And I don’t need to be reminded about what happened the last time.”

“Forgive me, your Grace,” I interrupted, as I rose up from my seat. “But it is not safe. Couldn’t we send someone else?”

“Is there anyone else brave enough to ride a dragon?”

I cut my eyes at Jon Snow, wondering if he caught that unintentional pun, but he was to busy brooding. The silence was all the answer Queen Daenerys needed. She stood up on her feet and stated, “By tomorrow morning I shall depart from this camp. The King of the North shall resume my command. This session is dismissed.”

I waited until everyone departed, including Varys before I approached the Queen. “Must you always speak so boldly,” she reprimanded, once I resumed my place by her side.

“I only care for your well-being. There is only one Daenerys Targaryen.”

“I know that.”

“And only one who can unite the Seven Kingdoms and take her rightful place on the Iron Throne.”

She waited until her lover departed from the tent before she uttered. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m meant for politics. I am a conqueror- not a ruler, not like that.”

“You will be a _good_ Queen.”

“I wonder if it was boredom that drew my father to madness?” she asked, it was obviously a rhetorical question, or at least I hoped so. “What do you think?”

“I think you should stop comparing yourself to him,” I said sternly, before I laid my hand on hers. “You are so much better than that.”

“What shall I do without you,” she mused, a small smile graced her child-like face. “I haven’t seen you, as of late.”

“You’ve been busy,” I reminded her. _Busy fucking Jon Snow, that is._

“I should have consulted you more. You may have made some mistakes,” she paused to emphasis the point. “But you have often given me good council.”

“Thank you, your Grace, but I don’t think you need me anymore. Jon Snow is a noble warrior and King, and you must depend on his council now.” I unpinned my silver Hand from my cloak and placed it in her hands. She held it strangely, unsure of my silent gesture. “With your permission, I would like to go back to Winterfell.”

“Whatever for?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit from her sudden distress.

“I am a political man, like my father. As much as he tried to disown me, we always had that one thing in common. Let me assist Lady Sansa and prepare the North for you once you and Jon Snow return.”

“Do you wish to win back Lady Sansa?” she teased, as she folded her fingers over the pin.

“No. There is little hope for that now,” I admitted. “But if my sister decides to change her mind and attack the North, I’ll be ready for it.”

“Then you have my permission.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” I mumbled, and bowed down to her to win her good graces.

“And Tyrion?” she added, a second before I was out of the tent.

“Take Varys with you. I’m sure a _spider_ would be much help.”

“I’m sure he will be forever grateful,” I gibed, and threw back the drapes before I returned to the icy tundra.

 


	13. Nakedness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

Lord Baelish was half asleep when he opened the door, his eyes lazily taking me in with a faint look of surprise. His dressing robe was open, revealing the paleness of his chest, the deepness of his scar that penetrated his skin. My eyes glanced upwards, and he grimaced at the sight of my horror-stricken face, the blackened scar etched into his neck made his appearance even more frightening.

“Can I help you, my Lady?” he barked, his brogue heavier than ever.

“I was wondering if I could speak to you… alone.”

He looked back at his bed where Myranda’s naked form was sprawled out across the furry blankets. _Who wouldn’t sleep after the night she had,_ I thought, as I heard her snores from outside Lord Baelish’s door.

“I’d invite you in,” he teased, while small crinkles formed around his eyes as he smirked at me. “But I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

I blushed under his heated gaze and looked away from him for a moment. “Can you be ready and dressed within the hour?”

“I’ll be ready in ten. Come in,” he offered, and nodded his head in the direction of his bed. “She won’t bite.”

I wavered for a moment before I stepped through the door, having to go under Lord Baelish’s arm I caught a waft of spearmint. _Even in the early morning of the hours he smells good,_ I thought worriedly.

“May I ask where you are taking me?”

“Outside. We are not at King's Landing anymore, but that doesn’t mean the walls don’t have ears.”

“You don’t trust your own people?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” _Especially you._

He threw off his robe and folded it neatly at the foot of his bed. His pale skin glistened in the soft morning light, his frame was firm and wiry. I would be a fool if I denied he didn’t look good for his age, it was fairly evident when he bent down to search for his doublet.

 _You really aren’t doing this right now, are you?_ My conscience was scolding me for taking a peak, admiring the way his toned arms moved deeper into the wooden chest, the tightness of his ass as he bent over, the way his hair was uncharacteristically messy and untamed as he continued to bend forward. Lord Baelish pulled out a brown doublet with matching pants and placed it on the bed beside him. He leaned over to kiss Myranda’s back, lovingly stroking her dark hair away from her face. He was utterly captivated for a moment, a thing I greatly disliked as he pecked her lean back again before he sat down beside her.

“Will you ever marry?” he asked, his eyes not reaching mine as he said it.

“Never.”

He said nothing, simply reached for his doublet and smoothed down the wrinkles with care. “I was never a marrying man,” he said suddenly. “But maybe that will change one day.”

“You wish to marry _her?_ ” I said with scorn, though I instantly regretted it once I saw the smug on his face.

“Perhaps.” He slinked into his tight doublet, covering the last of his ghostly skin before he reached over for his pants. The small clothes he was wearing thwarted my curiosity, but I could tell his ‘littlefinger’ wasn’t exactly little. “Do you enjoy watching me?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” _After all,_ _I’ve had four brothers and two husbands, I am quite familiar with the sight of a half-naked man by now._

“Hmmm… I know what you mean.” He pointed to the woman behind him for emphasis. “There is nothing more beautiful than a woman’s nakedness.”

I might have rapped out something clever, had it not been for the way he looked lustfully at me. “I imagine your experiences with that Bolton boy has made you think ill of sex, but I can assure you it is actually quite good if you have the right partner.”

“I am aware of that, Lord Baelish,” I answered sharply. _Everyone is aware of it from all the noise the two of you made last night._

“In theory, yes. But in practise… you have no idea…”

 _What you want to do to me,_ it was his eyes that said it all. It left me feeling naked, as if I wasn’t wearing a heavy winter coat. I bit my lip up at him, hating the way his eyes looked me up and down. _Even after all this time he still can’t let me go._

“You’re a distraction, my Lady,” he blurted out, before he rose to his feet. “I think its been more than ten minutes now.”

“Well, then you better hurry up or my guards will get nervous.”

“I will not harm you,” he assured me, though his mouth twitched for a moment as he turned his back to me. He threw on a heavy wolf skin coat and only then did he take his place by my side. “I am at your command, Lady Sansa.”

“Very well, follow me.” I took one last look at the fully ravished woman before we left his chamber room, and I couldn’t help but wish I was there instead.


	14. The Unquiet Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

Sansa was silent as she walked beside me, only the crushing of our feet in the winter dregs, that spectre-grey snow could be heard in our continual silence. She was leading me out of Winterfell, I could see that now, as we passed the stables, the open courtyard and trailed around the strips of barns. Some of my spies lived here, I could only hope they had the common sense to not approach me in front of the Lady of Winterfell.

The sun flickered through the shafts of wood, the distant murmurs of horses was the sole unquiet thing as we strode through the open barns. People were scattered everywhere, fast asleep by the faded blue flames of the fire. _Sansa was right,_ I mused, _there really is no room for everyone._

A small boy appeared from the shadows and ran to us, his clothes torn and stained by his daily labors. “Good morning, Lady Sansa,” he said cheerily, though it was quiet enough to not wake the looming figures by the fireside.

“Good morning, Tom.”

“Have you heard any news about King Jon?”

“No,” she answered, a soft blush came to her cheeks. “I will let you know once we hear anything.”

“I wish I could fight in The Great War, but mother says I’m just a child.”

“Your time will come,” she answered him, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing in my direction.

“He’s…”

“An old friend,” I interrupted and bent forward to smile at the boy. _He would make a good spy_ , I thought, _and took note of his name for future reference._

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” he said happily. “I should get going, or else Ed will kill me. Goodbye!”

“He’s one of Ed’s stable boys,” she explained, once the child ran away. “Though he truly belongs in the training grounds.”

“He reminds me of your sister,” I remarked, the tone of my voice was unusually high as I tried to feign indifference towards the Stark girl.

“Arya? I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she replied, before she took a step away from me.

Sansa continued her leisurely stroll, and I found myself following her most unwillingly. In spite of everything she had done to me, and all of the lies and betrayal we have both suffered on either side, I was still entranced by her; seeing her wonton gaze upon my nakedness this morning had aroused me, even when I tried to suppress it with all the willpower I had. The kisses I gave to Myranda was for Sansa’s sake, I wanted her to feel just as I had felt- jealousy, rage, desire, the things that made me who I am today. _A man without a soul,_ I contemplated, as I watched her arresting figure wander along the very edges of the forest. And yet, this unquiet soul, for I believed I still had one, was enchanted by her, desired her, desirous that she would want me as much as I wanted her _still._

 _You never learn,_ said a dark voice at the back of my mind. _Destroy her, before she destroys you._

She suddenly turned around to look at me, wondering why I had slowed down my pace, and for a second she was shy and vulnerable as she looked into my eyes, but then she put her guard up. “Are you coming, Lord Baelish?”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me. I am tired from last night’s events.”

“I hope you know all of my guards refuse to stand watch outside of your chamber room door. You make them… uncomfortable.”

“Jealous, you mean.”

She said nothing, only shooting me an annoyed glare before she pushed herself through the dense trees. She was leading me into the heart of the forest where the last Weirwood tree dwelled. I wish she would take me somewhere else, a place that had no painful memories of what once was.

“Do you mean to pray?” I asked, as I returned to her side. The trees were beginning to open up, and I could see the golden sunlight shining upon the frost covered trees and the icy stream which winded its way around the front half of the Weirwood tree.

“If I did pray I’d ask them why your still alive?” Her voice quavering with anger, it was an unexpected contrast from our serene-like surroundings. “And why you decided to come back?”

“I already told you why.”

“I don’t believe you,” she spat out, reminding me of a similar quarrel we had last night.

Frustrated, I grabbed at her arm and swung her around to face me. Sansa fought back but I held her firmly until she settled down. Once she was still, I leaned forward until our faces were only inches apart and asked, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to go! I should have never let you come back to Winterfell.”

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No, I-” she stammered.

I loosened my grip on her, but I was still inclined to keep her close to me just in case. Her shortened breaths, the way her cheeks were on fire the longer I looked at her made my merciless resolves tear at the seams. _Hate her,_ I reminded myself, but those frosty blue eyes smothered those wicked flames within me. Her dainty hand reached for my own, lightly brushing against it. Sansa blinked and looked down at our hands, they were touching but not touching, connected but not, it was like us- always reaching out but never fully grasping at the other.

“We have to trust each other,” I found myself saying.

“I can’t… not after-”

“You don’t think this is hard for me as well?”

She looked away, glancing at the scarlet red leaves swaying in the breeze. The aspen bark of the Weirwood tree held her attention. _Why must she look so beautiful,_ I wondered, as the sun illuminated her auburn hair and her white skin glowed profusely.

“Sansa,” I breathed, and felt the warmth of her rays as she looked at me now. I leaned in slowly, feeling the hotness of her breath on my face. She was relenting, I could feel it as she began to lean in as well.

“Petyr, I-” her words were cut off as I grabbed a hold of her and kissed her breathlessly. _She said my name._ My hands found a way to the back of her head, and I pulled her more into me, possessively kissing her until she stumbled into her desires. Sansa tumbled into my arms, giving way to her passions her dainty fingers gripped at the front of my coat, as if she was holding on for dear life. I broke my lips away, desperate to catch my breath, and only when I leaned in to kiss her again she stopped me with her hand against my chest. _Not again._ “I can’t do this,” she whispered, her head leaning down, so I couldn’t see her eyes.

Furious with her, I released my grip and took a step away, feeling the burning shame I had felt not so long ago. _I never learn._

“We can’t-” she stammered out. “You killed-”

“So, did you, my love.”

She winced at the word, turning herself away from me and staggering towards her reverend tree. I followed her slow steps and knelt beside her, where she lay the back of her head on the withered bark with her eyes closed. Sansa looked in pain, not physically but emotionally, as a world of emotions was cascading down on her.

“Perhaps, I really do need guidance,” she mused, her hands trailing down the rough bark behind her. “Will you stay at least stay with me while I pray?”

“If that is what you wish,” I said hesitantly. I was uncertain of her feelings towards me. I was so uncertain of _everything_ now. But as she took my hand in her own and closed her eyes to say a silent prayer I felt there was still some glimmer of hope for us.

 _What will she think of me,_ I wondered, suddenly remembering all of my plans for revenge that had already taken shape weeks before I stepped into Winterfell’s castle and found myself falling in love with the same woman all over again. _It’s too late, there is nothing I can do to stop it._ The sudden fear of losing her entirely, made me slip my arm around her waist and pull her into my solid frame. Sansa was quick to scold me for my impertinence, but what did it matter? Soon she will know the truth, and her scolding me for disturbing her prayers will be the least of my worries, for I had given the gods a _name_ and they intended to take it.

 


	15. Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jamie**

“What the hell is that?” I asked aloud, as I swiveled around to face the noise. It was a snuffled, breathless cry as something came charging down the forest floor, weaving its way between the trees.

“Protect Bran!” I yelled and ran towards the stretched-out cripple boy.

There was a yelp out in the distance, and then a deafening cry. “Help!” one of the guards screamed at the top of his lungs, and then it was silenced.

“Form a line!” I ordered to the remaining two guards. “Stand with me!”

One of them ran off into the bushes. “Bastard,” I called out, before I looked to the other Winterfell soldier.

“Are you with me?” He didn’t have time to reply, for a large wild boar bolted out of the bushes and headed straight towards us. “Seven hells,” I breathed, as I saw the red blood dripping down its sharp fangs.

“No,” the guard said, before he ran off into the wilderness. The boar turned sharply and ran in the direction of the frightened guard instead, growling ferociously as it nipped at his heels.

“We have to go!” I yelled to Bran and picked up the snow-crusted robe from the ground and began to pull away from the terrifying screams behind me. “Heeellppp!” echoed in the darkling forest, as the man was being torn to pieces- eaten alive. “Shit,” I muttered, as the cries began to die away. _It’s coming._ I tried to pull harder on the piece of robe but it was useless with one hand, it only moved three times slower when I was doing it alone, barely moving across the snowy ground at all. “Come-on,” I cried, as I pulled at the robe with all of my strength, but my frost-bitten hand made the robe slip through my hands continually. The shooting pain of the cold air seeping into my bones made my hand ache, and with each pull I had to suppress a painful groan.

_Just leave him._ I looked at the boy, half-asleep as he lied upon the sled. His eyes looking towards the sky, hardly aware of his surroundings. I grimaced at the sight and wondered why I didn’t just up and leave him while I still have the chance. _Because you still have a thread of honour,_ my conscience whispered.

A squeal pierced through the air, and the low grumbling noise as the boar darted through the trees to come after us. _How ironic,_ I thought, as I reached for my sword and walked around the wooden sled to face it. _This is the same beast that killed Robert Baratheon. Let this not be my fate as well._ I sighed and held up my sword with anticipation, my blue eyes scanning the surroundings awaiting the beast to appear amongst the changing shadows.

A dangerously low groan escaped the beast’s lips as it spotted me, its mouth wide open to reveal its twisted bloody fangs that were eager to take hold of me. It suddenly bolted into the air and then ran towards me at a frightening speed. “Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, as I my sword trembled in my left hand with fear. The boar shrilled before it leapt at me, I slashed at its side and watched it tumble to the floor. The beast rolled over with a low grown, before it got up to face me again. “Oh, shit,” I breathed, as it crept towards me with a venomous glare; its blood dripping down on the pure white snow. _Things have definitely got a lot more personal._ The angry growls from the beast’s lips was enough to confirm my suspicions.

“Now, I’ve done it,” I muttered, the moment the beast sprinted towards me. I raised my sword and held a defensive position as it charged at me, it was just about to leap at my chest when it suddenly froze, and its legs folded over and crashed to the ground. The boar squealed in pain as its darkened orbs took on a ghostly hue, its head shaking in fury until its eyes were completely white, and only then did its head bend over and fall into the snow.

“What just happened?” I walked over to the boar with a cautious step, sword pointing towards its throat just in case it rose up again. Its entire body was limp, as I walked around it, though I could see a slight twitch in his right hoof as if he was trying to stand.

“Kill it,” Bran ordered, his voice as chilling as the frigid air around us.  “Before it kills you.”

With one quick flick of the wrist I swiped its head off clean. The boar’s head rolled away from its body and hid itself amongst the bushes. Letting out a relieved sigh I turned to the boy and noticed his eyes was a terrifying shade of white. “Bran?” I asked, as I ran towards him and knelt beside his sled. “Are you alright? Your eyes…” _There is something not right here._ I looked behind me to see the bloody corpse, and then back at Bran’s impassive face, careful not to look into those unsettling eyes for too long. “Did you just do that?”

“He was hungry,” he answered woodenly.

“He killed our men.”

The boy was silent, he blinked and then his eyes slowly returned to normal. His head drooped over the moment he fell out of the spell. Bran’s face twitched in pain, before he looked at me with those familiar brown eyes of his.

“Are you going to tell me what that was?”

“I’m still not strong enough,” he breathed, though it was more to himself than to me.

“What are you talking about?”

“I need to do it again.”

“Are you hearing a word I just said?”

I suddenly felt a jarring pain all around my head, as if everything was tightening, inexplicably compressing inside of my mind. I held my head in pain, feeling the full wrath of whatever it was inside of my head. _It’s him,_ I realized, as I turned to look at those piercing white eyes delving into mine.

“Stop it,” I growled, and reached over to him, but my left hand began to tremble from the strain. “Just stop it,” I ordered, before I gave out a painful cry. _I can hear him inside of my head,_ I panicked, as I found my legs were no longer mine, and I could feel it bending towards the ground at a quickening pace. I wailed as he forced me to the ground, my entire body was slipping away from me. “Please,” I said in a thin, raspy voice as my eyes looked to me for one last time; Bran’s pale white eyes were eagerly watching me as he pulled me into his doom.


	16. Valar Dohaeris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Arya**

It was late evening when I found my brother sitting upon a rock, staring out at the barren land around him which gradually dipped the further you looked. Ghost was nuzzled next to him, its head resting on his lap. Jon didn’t hear me approach him from behind, for my footsteps were as light as a feather.

“Arya?” he said with surprise, his eyebrows lowering in good humour. “How did you find me?”

I sat beside him, crossing my legs together with careful precision. “How could I not?” I asked and unsheathed my valyrian dagger so I could flick it between my fingers.

“I just wanted some time to think alone,” he said, his gloved hands gently stroking the direwolf’s fur.

“She’ll come back.”

“Its been two days. I should have never let her go.”

I looked out into the frozen field, catching the faint shape of the moon in the sky. There was no dragon in sight. “You really like her, don’t you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You sound like Sansa.”

“Well, it usually is,” he remarked, after he let out a long sigh. “You’ll understand one day.”

I thought of Gendry. I saw him amongst a crowd once, but we still haven’t spoken. _I’m not a girl anymore,_ I mused, _I am so much more than that now._

“And I’m happy Sansa finally made up her mind and killed the creep.”

“Littlefinger?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, and reached over to mess up my hair for old time’s sake.

“Haven’t heard from her too, have you?”

“Not yet.”

“She’ll be fine,” I assured him, while I tried to tie my hair back in place. “She’s a Stark.”

He turned to face me, a grave expression was painted on his face. “There’s something you should know. I’m not who you think I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a Targaryen.” His eyes softened a bit, the faintest of feeling was betrayed in those dark brown eyes. “Your father took me in and pretended I was his bastard son, but I’m not.”

A silence stretched between us as I took in Jon’s words. I stared down at Ghost, trying to comprehend everything he said.

“Then _who_ are you?”

“I am Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. I am your cousin, Arya.”

“Why did you keep this from me?” I asked with pain, my face darkening with anger.

“I only just found out myself. Bran told me. He saw it in one of his visions.”

“Then it must be true.”

He offered me a small smile and rested his brow on mine. “I will always be your older brother, you know that, don’t you?”

_Once upon a time I wish you were more, but those days are gone now._

“You will keep this a secret, won’t you?”

“I will,” I promised, as I moved my head away from his. “Does anyone else know?”

“My friend Sam… and Bran, of course. And now you.”

“Not Sansa?”

“No. There was no time to tell her.”

“That means she’s the Queen of the North,” I laughed, knowing she would be all to happy to hear the news. “But that means you are…”

He nodded his head in agreement, before he pouted his lips with displeasure. “I am the _true_ heir to the Iron Throne.”

“What about Queen Daenerys?”

“She must _never_ know.”

* * *

It was late when I left my cousin, night was already upon us when he accompanied me back to the campsite. Once he saw me safely inside my tent, he waved goodbye and left with Ghost closely trailing behind him.

I looked around my neat little room, making sure everything was still in order before I pulled out my chest of faces and analysed each one. _Cersei is still not here._ She was next on the list, but that would have to wait until this war is done. I heard the crushing of snow outside my tent, so I slammed the chest shut and threw it underneath my makeshift bed.

“Lady Stark?” a voice asked from outside my tent.

“Yes, who is it?” I asked, as I rose to my feet.

“I’m here to see if you need your weapons sharpened,” a small voice asked, it sounded like a boy. I strode over to the tent and flapped away the curtains, so I could get a better look at him. He was my height, maybe smaller, with brown moppy hair that nearly covered his eyes. He looked harmless, so I let him come in.

“Do you know how to use a sword?”

“My father is training me. He used to be a blacksmith.”

_Like Gendry,_ I thought, and turned away from him to retrieve Needle. “Have you seen a blade like this?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said with a wide-eyed expression. _His eyes were so large and dark,_ I thought, and for some reason that greatly distressed me.

“My brother gave it to me,” I said matter of factly. “It was my first sword. I’ve killed many people with this blade.”

“Could I hold it?” he said curiously, hardly disturbed by the fact that I just admitted killing lots of people.

“Alright.” I handed him the blade, and he held it awkwardly.

“You know how to sharpen a sword, but you don’t know who to use them?”

“Not yet. I practice every morning with one, it’s lighter than this one though.”

“You need a teacher,” I remarked, after he handed me back Needle. “You need to learn how to do the dance.”

I showed him this fancy technique by moving around the room with my sword, letting it flow lightly in the air as my feet nimbly moved across the dirt floor.

“Could you teach me?”

“I don’t have time for that.” I stopped abruptly and shot the sword back into the sheath. “We have a war to fight.”

He pouted a bit, obviously annoyed that I turned him down. “Well, who taught you how to fight?” he asked suddenly, his voice was somewhat higher than usual.

I went over to the foot of the bed and placed my sword down. “No one,” I replied, before I felt my lips tug into a mischievous smile. I found the silence around us strange, so I turned back to the boy and saw something I did not like in the his eyes, but I couldn’t tell exactly what that was.

“I see you have something else there,” he pointed out, his eyes focusing on the black dagger strapped to my right hip.

“This?” I asked, and unsheathed the valyrian steel blade, the sharp ringing of steel ran through the air as I thrust it off my belt.

“What kind of blade is it?”

“Valyrian.”

He stepped closer, looking at it with interest. His eyes scanned over the reflective metal and then the thinness of the hilt.

“Where did you get that? Did your brother give to you as well?”

“Another brother… Bran.”

“Wow!” He looked up at it with wonder, itching to hold it in his own hand.

“I only killed one person with this blade, but it felt _good._ ”

“Does it always feel good?”

“No, not like that,” I jeered, a smirk spread across my face reluctantly. _He must think I’m mad._

“Could I hold it?” he asked to my surprise.

“Just be careful, it’s rather sharp.” The boy held it gingerly, letting his fingers slide down the rough ridges of the hilt. _There’s something wrong with his hands,_ I realized, _they look like they belong to a woman._

I looked in to his eyes and found that he had been watching me- there was a deadness to his large black eyes. “I’ll have it back now,” I said quickly, feeling a sickness in my stomach the longer he looked up at me.

“But, of course,” he said lightly, and swiveled the dagger around his fingers with masterful skill. My breath was caught, I had never seen anyone move a dagger quite like that other than myself.

“Who-are-you?”

“I am no one,” said a woman’s voice, and then my dagger was suddenly thrust in the center of my chest. I groaned, as I tried to fight back but she pulled it out and stabbed me in the chest again. I felt the air leave my lungs as I fell to the floor, blood gushing out all around me. _I’m dying,_ I realized, as I tried to cover the holes with the palm of my hands.

The woman grabbed me by the back of my hair and forced me up on my knees. The mask was gone, a small mousy-looking girl looked up at me with curious eyes. “Valar Morghulis.”

“Memento mori,” I breathed, noticing how dry my mouth felt as I said it.

There was a twinge of sadness in her large black eyes as she uttered, “He wanted me to give you a message.” She stood back up on her feet and went around my back. I felt the blade touch the front of my neck, just where I had placed it on Lord Baelish’s throat not to long ago.

“No,” I groaned, as I tried to fight back but I had already lost to much blood. “Don’t.”

“He wanted me to say,” she paused, and leaned her lips right next to my ear. Her voice changed suddenly to a deep, raspy voice as she uttered, “I did warn you not to trust me.”

The hot searing pain of the blade slicing my throat cut off my cries; I reached for my throat just as he had done. The world grew darker, and darker and then I could see nothing- nothing but an endless void.


	17. The Snow Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

It was the fuzzy blue lighting from my window that made me venture outdoors. I needed this lone and silent hour to think about _him._

It has been just three days really since he rode through Winterfell’s gates, and already so much has happened. He proved himself an able councilman, and so far, the conditions for the refugees have changed dramatically. It was his brilliant mind that suggested they go off to neighbouring houses, and it was his gold that helped pay for their transportation and food.

“What’s in it for you?” I asked him once, when the small council dispersed, and it was only him and I in the room.

“Me?” he said with a thin, wiry smile. “I only live to serve you, my Lady.”

“You may be able to deceive the others, but not _me._ What are you really playing at?”

“When this war is over there will be three options: Either we defeat the dead and Jon Snow returns as the triumphant hero and hailed ‘King of the North.’” Lord Baelish paused and took a step closer into my space. “Or the dead defeat us, and then all our trouble comes to nothing. But there is also another option…”

“And what is that?” I asked softly, not liking that mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“If Jon Snow is anything like Ned Stark, I reckon he is an honourable man… a man that will fall on his sword for his people. A person that will act irrational and make decisions purely based on his _emotions._ ”

_Like the Battle of the Bastards,_ I thought. _It was because of him we almost lost the war._

“I’ve only had the time to speak to your brother alone once.” He grimaced suddenly and rubbed his fingers along the front of his collar as though he was in pain. “But I think I learned enough about him to know he is just like his father. I don’t think he is going to survive this war, Sansa.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Your right. I don’t,” he replied, tilting his head slightly with amusement. “But I’m a gambling man, and I think Jon Snow will throw himself into the fire and think he won’t get burned. If he should die than you will be the rightful Queen of the North…” He smiled suddenly, while the lids of his eyes batted slowly as he looked at me. He almost looked pleased by the fact, and his next few words confirmed it: “As it should be. Sansa, you were meant to be the ruler of Winterfell. It is the true born daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark that should rule these people.”

“What you suggest is treason.”

“Only if we’re caught,” he said from the corner of his mouth. “The people that we’ve sent to the neighbouring houses will sing praises of you to the sky! The Lords shall hear this and think better of you. And when the time comes- once Jon is dead, that is, it will be you who win the support of the people. Then no man or woman can challenge your right to be Queen.”

“Why would someone want to do that?”

“Have you forgotten the Boltons? The Greyjoys? For thousands of years men have been fighting to take Winterfell. It is the greatest stronghold in the North, and with all of this chaos that is erupting everywhere, you would be a fool to not think that people will try to take what is rightfully yours.”

“Do you want it?” I asked suddenly, though I wasn’t sure where it came from.

“Warden of the North does sound tempting…” He puckered his lips at the thought of it. “But I prefer you to have it.”

“Why?”

“Because it is yours,” he simply said, and then he turned around to make his way to the door.

“You still haven’t told me what’s in it for you.”

“Oh, Sansa,” he said over his shoulder. His hand was on the doorknob when he laughed, “I thought you already knew.”

_He wants me,_ I realized, as I my way through the dense trees. The faint morning light revealed my well trodden path, it was always the same every morning. I would sit under the Weirwood tree and think, sometimes I’d pray, but I felt the gods could never hear me, so I hardly prayed anymore.

It was a cool morning; soft flakes of snow came down from the sunlit sky. Quiet warbling from birds soothed my nettled nerves. The gentle breeze made my face aglow; my cheeks took on a soft rosy hue. It was so calm and peaceful, all around me was serene, so why then did my heart stop at the sight of him? His back was turned, Lord Baelish was looking down at the Weirwood tree in silent contemplation. He must have heard a noise for he suddenly turned around and faced me.

“Lady Sansa,” he said cheerily, and sauntered over to me. “I was worried you would not come.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked defensively.

“I was hoping to see you.”

I shook my head and walked past him. I had fallen into many illusions and deceitful fantasies, but this would not be one of them. “What do you _want,_ Lord Baelish?”

“I only wished to speak to you alone. You’ve been avoiding me these past few days.”

“I have seen you everyday, for you have been a regular attendee to my council, in spite of the others’ feelings towards you. I’ve stuck my neck out for you-”

“Why?” He positioned himself in front of me, blue eyes looking all over my face before he repeated the question. “Why did you do that for me?”

“Because I need you. You’re the only one here who knows what they are doing. I think its fairly obvious by now.”

“Yes,” he replied with a low chuckle. “It’s like the King’s Council all over again. All that I need is Varys to get in the way of my plans.”

“And what are your plans?”

“To serve you, my Lady.” He walked away from me and stopped at a small boulder. He placed one foot atop it, before he turned his head in my direction. There was something turning in his mind, but I couldn’t tell exactly what was spinning in that brilliant mind of his. Lord Baelish’s eyes drifted upwards to the sky, trying to catch the unseen birds that sang full-heartedly above us. He smiled softly to himself, before he turned his gaze back to me. “Is something troubling you, my Lady?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“No, I’m not troubled,” he drawled. “I like this place. I think its growing on me.”

“It does have that effect,” I agreed, as I walked towards him. “It’s the only place that I can truly be myself. No titles, no responsibilities, just-”

“Sansa Stark,” he interrupted, his voice was a little to low for my liking.

“Exactly,” I said softly. I knelt down and grabbed a handful of snow. He watched me curiously, before he gave out a yelp once I threw the heap of snow in his direction.

“My Lady?” he cried, as he ducked low enough to avoid the snowball.

“No, it’s just Sansa.”

“Sansa,” he repeated, his voice trembling with feeling. It was enough for me to pick up another snowball and throw it at him, preferring his anger over his love.

“I’m warning you,” he teased. “One more, and I’ll have no other choice but to defend myself.”

“Then defend!” I yelled, as I threw it at his face, it crushed with the impact and slid down his neck and collar. He gave out a cry as he jumped up and down from the chunks of ice that was quickly sliding down his shirt.

“It’s-so-cold,” he wailed through gritted teeth. I threw another one at his chest while he was distracted, and that made him growl fiercely. “Sansa,” he said darkly, his steps were slow as he approached me.

I crouched down to pick up another handful of snow, but he suddenly ran at me and I fled. I darted through the trees, laughing all the while, knowing I thoroughly pushed him over the edge. He caught me, and I let out a squeal. His hands wrapped around my waist from the back, and he laughed as he lifted me up in the air.

“Put me down,” I yelled, trying not to cry from laughter.

“Never.”

“Petyr!” I wailed. _That was a mistake._ I felt him lowering me down slowly, and only when I was back on my feet did he turn me around. I was scared, it was not anger in his eyes but admiration- love. I backed away, but his hands caught me. He took a step closer, all of his attention solely focused on my lips. “We can’t,” I breathed, though I licked my lips as he leaned in further. “We shouldn’t.”

He pressed his lips on mine lightly, before he moved it away. His blue eyes went from my lips to my own pale frosty blue, and he _knew_ that I enjoyed it.

“I think you deserve some form of punishment,” he said in a raspy voice. He licked his own lips as he waited for my reply. I stood there looking at him, thinking, knowing if I should give in then it would be at my own peril. _I can’t trust him._ His hands reached up to cup my frozen cheeks, they were so warm and soft. _Only a fool would trust Littlefinger._ He tilted my head upwards, brushing his thumb along my rosy cheeks. I held my breath with anticipation. _No, you can’t! You can’t,_ but it was too late, his lips were already on mine. I leaned my chest against his, telling him I wanted more. _Make him stop,_ but my hands slipped under his long-sleeved coat and pulled his body atop of mine. His kisses grew deeper, hungrier as he sensed I wouldn’t push him away. I kissed him back, finally giving into my passions, and to both of our surprises it was I who slowly dominated him. He steered me towards a tree and pressed my body upon it, grinding his core on top of mine. A warm tingling came over me, below my stomach was a burning sensation that only grew worse as Petyr shoved himself harder on me. I whined as I lifted up my head, and his kiss-swollen lips angrily sucked and nipped at my throat. _Make him stop,_ but I only whimpered further as he devoured my body, marking it with his teeth and tongue. Petyr lifted me up, and grinded me harder against the tree in fury. I knew what he was doing, Petyr was teasing me, showing me exactly what I was missing. I moaned as he made me peak, as a flurry of sensations came over me. My head drooped over, and he took the opportunity to kiss me, letting it last until I was nearly out of breath. Petyr lowered me down and took a step away, licking his lips at me as watched my half-bent figure desperately trying to catch my own breath.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he drawled, and with a satisfied grin he walked away.

 


	18. Forbidden Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

The water was hot, but that did nothing to soothe the aching between my legs. _Just don’t think about her,_ I reminded myself, but I still felt hard. I groaned before I picked up a wet cloth and lathered the water all over my body. Orange peels floated in the water leaving a bright citrusy scent in the wake. I rubbed the cloth down my scar, which severed the front half of my chest. _I never learn,_ I thought for the tenth time today. _She will only bring me to ruin._

I waded out of the water, cold artic air clung to my wet skin, sending shivers down my spine. I reached for a dry towel and rubbed it all over my body till my skin was dry and clean. I sauntered over to the sink, glancing at the looking-glass for a moment to see the scars trailing across my neck and down my chest. _Look what love has only brought you- nothing but pain._ I covered the glass with my damp towel and reached over for my spearmint chest where I kept the leaves safely compressed until I needed it. Stuffing a stray leaf into my mouth, I chewed on it while lathering my body in the finest oil money can buy.

I was so confused about everything. I wanted her, and yet, I also wanted to destroy her. I loved her but hated her. How could this be? I shook my head in misery, as I swung the towel around my waist while heading out the bathroom. Sansa had forgiven me, of course, she said so after she said her prayers under the Weirwood tree a few days ago. I told her everything: Why I betrayed Ned Stark, smuggled her out of King’s Landing, killed Lysa, and even persuaded her to marry the Bolton boy. I told her my coming to her rescue at the Battle of the Bastards was a way to atone for my sins, but she disagreed.

“That was just a political move to get what you wanted,” she argued.

“Why can’t I hit two birds with the same stone?” I retorted. She didn’t like that, of course she wouldn’t. It was that upstanding honourable Stark trait that often prevented us from seeing eye to eye.

I had asked her why she decided to kill me, and she was most hesitant to reply. Admitting the truth made it all to real for her, so she delayed answering it till I uncharacteristically scolded her. Sansa eventually gave in and replied, “There was no way I could save you, not after I learnt what you had done. And I was angry- I felt betrayed. I _trusted_ you, and you turned out to be a monster.”

“Is that what you think I am?”

“Yes.”

I remember looking so grave that it caught her off guard. She laid her hand on top of mine and whispered, “Not always.”

“There’s some comfort.”

“Lord Baelish- Petyr, you must understand that not everyone is like you. Some people have morals.”

“Do you really think I’m that black hearted?”

“You killed your wife,” she reminded me.

“I did.” I laughed at the thought of it, and bit down on my lower lip as I remembered Lysa’s look of shock before I shoved her through the moon door.

“And you almost died because of it.”

“If it hadn’t been for you,” I interrupted. “Why did you help me that day?”

“I already told you!”

“You said you knew what I wanted.”

“I did.”

“Why were you so sure of it?” I asked in a husky voice, liking the way she looked at me from the corner of her eye. _She’s irresistible._

“Because you kissed me.”

“I did.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she scolded. “You were married.”

“And what if I wasn’t married? Would you have still let me kiss you?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of you that way.”

“Never?” I asked, leaning into her space without realizing, utterly intoxicated by her scent.

“You scared me. Littlefinger did. But-”

“What?” I asked, feeling the lines around my cheeks crinkle as I smiled up at her.

“Petyr was kind.”

“See! I’m not a monster.”

“No! You still are,” she rapped out, before she rose to her feet. “Which is why I need you on my small council. What do you say?”

“I am all yours, Sansa.”

I was startled by a sudden knock on the door, it was probably Myranda locked out again. _I should really give her a key,_ I meditated, as I made my way to the door. I was surprised to see the Lady of Winterfell staring up at me once I opened the door, her face was beet red the longer she looked at me.

“Sansa,” I said in a clear voice, clearly having the upper hand. “You always seem to come when I’m undressed.”

“I- I,” she stammered, unable to get past that single word. The punishment I gave her this morning was still fresh in her mind.

“Would you like to come in?”

“No,” she blurted out. She sucked in her cheeks and looked away from me. _The girl’s on pin and needles._

“Then you better say whatever it is you need to say because I’m cold, and quite frankly I don’t think we should be seen like this.”

“Fine, I’ll come in,” she said to my surprised, and brushed past me in a frantic manner. “We need to talk.”

“What about?” I asked dryly, while I opened my chest to search for some clothes.

“We can’t ever do that again.”

“Oh, and why not?”

“Because we can’t!”

“That’s hardly an answer.” I settled on a grey doublet with white details along the collar and sleeve. _Now if I could only find my pants?_

“I don’t trust you. How will I know you won’t hurt me again? How do I know your not just using me?”

“You don’t,” I said matter of factly, after I threw the doublet atop of the bed beside her. _Does she realize how much temptation there is in seeing her seated at the foot of my bed like that?_

“Don’t you think the same thing? I practically killed you. Don’t you ever fear I might do it again?”

“No.”

“Don’t you hate me?”

“Yes.” I turned to her with a dark expression. “I do hate you, Sansa. This mark is a daily reminder of it. And yet, I have come to care for you- love you, how can that be?”

“You shouldn’t love me,” she said wearily. “You shouldn’t think of me that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because-” she was at loss for words, her own fears were slowly diminishing away the longer she looked a me. She bit down at her lip and turned her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. You trusted me, gave everything to ensure my happiness and well-being, and I-”

“Shhhh, Sansa! Let us speak no more of it.” I sat down on the bed beside her, making sure there was some space between us, so I didn’t scare her off. She looked so gloomy as she stared at the hardwood floor, it was almost enough for me to forgive her, but I couldn’t, not yet.

“I’m happy you kissed me,” she confessed. “It was different.”

“How so?”

“Joffrey’s was sloppy,” she laughed. “Yours was nice. It just caught me off guard.”

“For both of us.”

“We’re you…” she paused, and looked at my chest, unable to reach my eyes. “We’re you in love with me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Are you in love now?”

“Yes.”

“Will you…” she paused again, but this time she met my eyes. “Will you kiss me?”

“With pleasure,” I said in a raspy voice, and leaned in to gap between us. I laid her down flat on the bed, silently encouraging her to move into the center before I went on top of her. I kissed her tenderly, letting her fell the depth of my love for her. Her hands felt the scar down my chest without fear, her smooth hands wandered across my broad chest and cupped my shoulders before she leaned forward to embrace my kisses.

“Sansa,” I breathed into her cheek, as her hand slipped away the towel between us. Her eyes never left mine, it was amazing how easily I could drown in them. _I want her._ I leaned in to her again, feeling her mouth melt into mine; she tasted like forbidden fruit, sweet and citrusy to the taste. “Tell me if you want to stop,” I reminded her, feeling this moment was to good to be true.

“No, keep going,” she whispered, as she moved her hands to my hips to grind me to her center.

“You’re going to have to take it off, sweetling.”

She laughed and pushed me off her, so she could remove her clothes. “It’s cold,” she noted, once she stripped off her jacket.

“I’ll keep you warm.”

“Where’s Myranda?” she asked worriedly, once she set her jacket next to Myranda’s things.

“I’ll take care of her. Just let me check if the door is locked.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“I’ve waited long enough.” She blushed as I unashamedly walked naked in front of her, the sight of my hardened cock made her realize what we were about to do. “Not what you were expecting?”

“No, it’s just…” she eyed it curiously, her cheeks turning redder by the second. “Different.”

I grunted at her, not entirely sure I was pleased with her answer. “You’re a hard one to please,” I quipped, after I helped her out of her dress.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she assured me, once she brushed her hair away from her face and let it stream down her back. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

“You say ‘How can that huge thing fit inside of me?’”

“I would never say that.”

“No, but you were thinking it,” I said slyly, already my hands were wrapping her auburn hair around the tips of my fingers.

“I would never-” I cut her off by smashing my lips into hers. Hands braced around her waist I swiftly steered her towards the bed before she had a chance to change her mind. She fell blissfully onto the furry covers, watching me crawl atop of the bed like an animal as I made her way towards her. She moved back, but I followed her still until she smashed into the headboard. “Maybe we should…” she bit at her lips, nervous by the sight of my darkened eyes filled with desire.

“It’s a little too late for that now, Sansa,” I breathed, placing my hands on either side of her until she was trapped between me. She swallowed hard, fearful of what was to come next. I placed my right hand around the back of her neck and guided her face towards me. I kissed her gently, hoping she would get used to the idea before she backed out completely. She shivered at my touch, trembling like a bird once our kisses deepened. _This is wrong,_ said a fearful voice at the back of my mind. _No, its right,_ another voice said sternly, and for once I was confident enough to continue this dangerous game. I guided my hand upward until it was lost in her thick auburn made, tangled between her luscious curls. She was leaning into me now, knowing that this feeling was too good to resist.

“Petyr,” she wailed, once she took hold of me and guided herself downwards. Her hands slid down my waist, stroking it fervently as I settled on top of her. “I’m ready.”

I bent my head to kiss her along the collarbone, trailing down her smooth shoulders, completely intoxicated by her smell- her taste. I nipped at the tip of her shoulder, wishing I could devour her completely. “You have no idea…” I moaned, as I took a harder bite into the curved blade, “How long I have waited…”

“I know,” she purred, her voice suddenly taking on a different tone. I glanced at her, hardly recognizing her at all. _What has she become,_ I wondered, as she took hold of my face and smothered my lips with hers. I slipped my tongue through her mouth, she paused for a moment, frightened by the sudden contact but then she seemed to trust me and relented. _Ramsay never did this to her,_ I realized, as I drove my tongue deeper into her. _He only caused her pain, but I shall show her what it is like to really be loved._  

She settled herself further on the bed, more than willing for me to explore her shape, trail my lips all down her chest and stomach. Hearing her whimper as I explored lower, knowing I was edging myself closer to the real prize. She was wet for me, and that made me smile far more than I should. “Are you ready?” I asked, suddenly bored of this fanciful game, it was time to show her what it was really liked to be fucked.

“Yeah,” she said in a high-pitch voice. “But will it hurt?”

“No, sweetling. Not when I do it.” _He really messed her up, didn’t he?_ “I would never _hurt_ you.”

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” I whispered, and raised my head that I could kiss her. “You can trust me.”

“Alright.” She nodded her head lightly. “I’ll trust you.”

“It may hurt at first. After that, it won’t. I _promise._ ”

“Okay,” she hushed, after she blinked at me nervously. “Will you hold my hand?”

I reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Do it,” she said with resolve. She interlaced our fingers together and let out a long sigh, her poor fingers were trembling in mine. I kissed her at the side of the cheek, feeling her mouth form into a smile once we made contact. _I’ll have to be gentle with her._ I offered her a small smile before I eased my way into her, slow rhythmic thrusts so she got used to the sensation. She gasped, her hand tearing into mine as she tried to not think about Ramsay.

“It’s alright, I’m here.” I used my thumb to stroke the side of her hand, not minding that she was practically tearing into my skin. “Just breathe, love.”

I continued to ease myself into her, holding a steady gaze so she knew I was there. She started to relax her entire body drifted down onto the bed with ease. I was still slow, though I wanted to push my way into her like there was no tomorrow. _Take your time,_ I had to remind myself, as I watched her let out short exhales from her lips. She was growing accustomed to the feeling of my body inside of hers, the throbbing pain was still there but she trusted me. “I’m going to go a little faster now,” I warned her, unable to control myself further. “Just tell me when to stop.”

I grunted before I shoved myself inside of her, and she let out a scream. Her hands released from mine and pressed against my chest. “I can’t!” she screamed, as the feeling reminded her of someone else, of a person who did not treasure such a precious gift.

“You can! Just look at me,” I urged, as I continued to thrust myself inside of her. She wriggled underneath me but the pain suddenly subsided, and she blinked in confusion as another feeling came over her.

“Yes,” she breathed, unknowingly subsiding to the arousing feeling. She released her hands from my chest and placed it on the sides of my cheek. She drew my face forward and kissed my lips deeply, drowning in the love I was giving to her. I went into her deeper, and she bulked her hips to let me slide myself in. _This is what it should feel like,_ I thought to myself, as the memories of Myranda and Ramsay slowly slipped away. It was just us now, tousling amongst the furry blankets, gnawing at each others skin, hands trailing down every part of flesh we could find. She rolled me over and went on top of me, showering me with kisses till she was out of breath. She wasn’t supposed to love me, and I wasn’t supposed to love her, but it happened, so who was I to complain?

“I forgive you,” I hushed, after I steadily held her head away from mine. It felt so right, this warm feeling that came over me as I held her in my arms. She nuzzled her head atop of my chest, playing with the tufts of chest hair with slight amusement. She felt hot to the touch; her moist lips were the only refreshment I needed. “I love you,” I whispered, as she began to doze off to sleep. She didn’t reply, but that didn’t worry me. _In time she will,_ I thought, _in time we will be together._

 


	19. The Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Brienne**

I was lost in a deep noonday thought when my horse stumbled upon a bloody corpse. “Steady,” I commanded to the great burly beast underneath me, and in time it obeyed.

“Stay here,” I ordered, once I jumped off the horse and crouched next to the half-torn body to investigate the cause of this ghastly sight. He had been chewed and mauled to death, it was the enormous loss of blood that mostly likely killed him. My gloved hand rolled the body to confirm my suspicion, he was one of Lady Stark’s men.

_I should have gone with him._ I looked over the body to see deep marks penetrating his ghostly grey flesh. _Probably a wild animal,_ I mused, _no human being could do that._

There was nothing else in sight, so I climbed back on the pale white horse and continued my journey. We trotted through the endless trees, taking in the frigid silence. I was alert, however, whatever it was that killed that man could still be alive.

_What about what I need,_ came across my mind unbidden. How Ser Jamie’s words haunted me still? My guilt, for I was convinced it was guilt, compelled me to pick up the pace. In no time at all, we saw two other corpses, their bodies half-covered in snow but I could still see the evidence of an attack. _Where is_ _he,_ I wondered, after I mounted my horse for the third time and took to the hills. _Where is Bran?_

The wind was picking up again, sending a flurry of snow in my direction. I covered my face further, but I could still feel my eyes swell up with bitter tears from the cold. _I must find them before it is too late._ I continued to travel north while daylight held the sky and it wasn’t until the sun was setting low that I saw a moving figure wandering across a frozen field.

“Hey!” I yelled, before I kicked the underbelly of the horse to pick up speed. “Stop right there!”

The figure halted, but its back continued to face me as if it was waiting. _There is something not right here._ I pulled on my horse’s bridle, forcing it to stop so I could watch the stranger from a distance. _Could it be a wildling? Or is it a white walker?_ The figure remained still, frozen in place as I unmounted my horse and stalked my way towards it. There was a long wooden sled in front of the stranger, and I instinctively knew it was Bran. _But who is the man in front of him?_

“Identify yourself!” I ordered, unsheathing my sword to show I meant business. “What are you doing with Lord Bran?”

His long black coat flapped in the wind, but his motionless body reminded me of a standing corpse. The man made a raspy sound, as if he couldn’t speak. It was a chilling sound that came from the back of his throat. I pointed my sword towards him and circled my way around him, until I could face the stranger. “Ser Jamie?” I asked in horror, hardly recognizing him at all. His face was white as snow and his eyes…

He took a step forward and I backed away in fear. He made that thin raspy sound again, tilting his head in a menacing manner.

“Ser Jame, its me. Lady Brienne.” He took another step forward, his boots crusted over in ice and snow. “I’m not your enemy! I’ve come to help you.”

I ran over to Bran, and found his eyes were the same. I shook his figure fervently, hoping to break him out of the spell. “Bran, wake up!” I cried, feeling the shadow of this creature hovering over me. “Its me! Lady Brienne!” I shrilled, as I shook him violently like a rag doll. “I know what you’re doing, and you need to stop _now!_ ”

A low squeal escaped Ser Jamie’s lips before he knocked me from behind. I fell face forward atop of Bran, noticing his eyes cleared up for a moment, before it was veiled in white again. Ser Jamie lifted me off Bran and tossed me to the floor. I quickly got up and pointed Oathkeeper at him. “Stop it! Just stop it, Jamie!”

He wordlessly bared his sword at me, swiveling it around his left hand before he charged at me. _Don’t kill him,_ I had to remind myself, before I evaded his deathly swing and turned on my heels to swipe him at the side of his leg. He shrilled once I nicked him with the blade, but that did not stop him from fighting. I blocked his undercut and thrust my sword upwards till both of them were sprayed out into the air. _Now,_ I thought, as I let go of the sword and punched him in the center of his chest. He let out a low gargle as he plummeted to the floor, and once he was stretched out across the icy field did I leap forward and snatched his weapons from him.

“Bran, this is enough,” I urged, the second I returned to his sled. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you. I can only help you if you let him go.”

I heard the crunching of snow as Ser Jamie lifted himself off the ground. “If you don’t stop I will have to kill him. You know that, don’t you?” I pleaded, as I took Bran’s frozen hand in mine.

The padding of footsteps could be heard behind me. _Please don’t make me do this._ I closed my eyes before I wielded my sword and placed it against Bran’s neck. “I’m giving you to the count of three. Let him go or I’ll slice your throat.”

_I hope he falls for this bluff._ “1-2,” I paused, as I heard the quickened footsteps behind me. “3!”

“Stop!” Ser Jamie cried. I turned around and watched his hands reaching out for me before he crumbled to the floor.

“I had to do it,” Bran spoke up. I turned to see his deadpan face and cold, calculating eyes staring up at me. “I had to know…”

“Know _what?_ ” I asked, as I lowered the sword away from his throat.

“If…” he stopped and turned his gaze away from me, focusing his attention on the weak orange lighting strung out across the cloudy sky.

“You could have killed him! You could have killed both of us!” I said angrily. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I huffed at him, before I went to pick up a blanket from my horse and cradle Ser Jamie’s body in it. “It’s alright. I’m here,” I reminded him, before I dragged him towards my horse and lifted him atop of it. “I’ll take care of you,” I whispered, and with that I led the horse away from Bran, deserting him in the process.

* * *

Ser Jamie woke up with a start, sweat pouring down his brow as he turned to glare at the fire. “Just relax,” I uttered, sensing his entire body was on edge. “Your body needs rest.”

He looked over the fire, eyeing me curiously. He blinked for a moment while his jawline tightened grievously.

“What is it?”

“I’m going to kill him,” he said darkly.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to rest and thaw those hands and feet of yours.”

He grunted and sat up slightly, though he looked like he was in a great deal of pain while he moved around his makeshift bed. He let out a long sigh as he stretched out his hands towards the fire, his golden hand glittered in the dark auburn lighting. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do,” I quickly said, deflecting his earnest gaze. “You jumped into the bear pit and saved my life. I called a bluff and saved yours.”

“Still, a Lannister always pays their debt.”

“There is no debt,” I said sternly, hoping this would end our discussion.

“Well, I’m happy you came,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping like honey. “Brienne the Saviour.”

“Now, you’re just overdoing it.”

“It’s better than Brienne the Ugly,” he taunted.

“Your walking on thin ice, Ser.”

“How did you put up with me all that time?”

“I have no idea,” I drawled, and went over to him to hand him some half-frozen meat. He chewed on it soberly, happy to see the fresh meat blazing in the fire.

“Please tell me that’s Bran.”

“It’s boar.”

“Oh, so you found it?”

“It wasn’t something I could just overlook.”

“It’s huge, isn’t it? Now imagine that thing charging at me?” he laughed, throwing a piece of bone into the fire.

“How did you defeat it? I saw you severed its head.”

“Bran,” he said quietly, his face contorting the longer he considered it. “What did he do to me?”

“Warging… I think that’s what the Northern’s call it. Ancient magic, it gives people the ability to control animals and humans.”

“I was scared,” he breathed. “For once in my life I felt helpless. I had no control.”

“I know. You _almost_ killed me.”

“I tried to fight back, but I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me! Why did he do it?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I was going to ask him tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow. Where is he?”

“Out there.” I pointed behind me where the trees were parted, if one looked hard enough they could see Bran still laying in his wooden sled like a cold corpse. “I left him. I was... angry.”

“That’s unlike you,” he remarked, lowering his food to take a long look at me.

“I never said I was perfect,” I retorted, and went over to the fire to rotate the meat. “He’s watching us anyways. That raven over there, just above that tree. It’s been there for hours.”

“How… comforting.”

“He won’t harm us. I think he learnt his lesson.”

“How do you know he won’t take me over again?”

“I don’t. But he said he ‘needed to know,’ and I can only assume he found out what he was looking for.”

Ser Jamie took the stick of meat hungrily, biting into the tender flesh wantonly. He smiled for the first time, and that left me with a warm tingling feeling inside. He caught my eye and I looked down at my dinner, realizing that it was just him and I on this dark stormy night.

“So?” he said, after he licked his lips. “Why did you come?”

“Lady Sansa sent me.”

“She changed her mind?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t me who did it. She said…”

“Yes?” he asked, leaning into my space suddenly.

“She doesn’t _need_ me anymore.”

“That’s harsh,” he laughed.

“She’s hiding something.”

“Women in her position usually do. She obviously knew you would object to it.”

“Why?”

“Because you have morals! You’re the last of our kind. You represent purity and honour and goodness.”

“You are too kind, Ser Jamie.”

“I’m not kind. Not really…” he looked up at me, smiling before he uttered, “If I didn’t know you any better I’d say your blushing!”

“It’s the cold.”

“The cold,” he drawled, his smile widening by the second. “Then perhaps I should keep you warm.”

“The fire is adequate enough, thank you.”

“But of course,” he laughed, as he stretched himself out on the furry makeshift bed. His golden hand waved me away, so he could take up his bed completely. “Well, in that case, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ser Jamie,” I said coldly, though the sight of him cuddled next to the fire was tempting. Throwing the last of the bones into the flames, I threw the blanket over my head and tried my best to not watched him as I lulled off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guys miss Petyr but I have to set up his playground first, before he continues his climb to win the Game of Thrones. He will appear in all his glory in the next chapter "Change of Plans." Hope to see you then,
> 
> -petyrbaaaeeelish


	20. Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

“You’re going soft,” Parcelle said mockingly, as he gazed into the fire. “You sleep with Sansa Stark once, and already you’re changing plans.”

I tapped my right foot impatiently upon the soot stained floor, if Parcelle wished to get under my skin it was working.

“You were a fool to come here!”

I thought you wanted me to come,” I complained. “You practically begged me.”

“I would have gone north with or without you. My place is _here._ ”

“And so is mine,” I growled. “Besides, I got tired of watching the pawns move in place from afar. I’d rather watch them crumble up close.”

“You should have not come,” he reprimanded. “What if she finds out what you have done to her sister?”

“She won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” Parcelle pressed the tips of his fingers together, building a trianglar bridge between his two hands. He was watching me for any signs of weakness, but I would not back out of my plans now.

“Let’s just say I made sure no one will miss her face.”

“I see,” he said gravely. “But that won’t last for long?”

“No, but long enough not to rouse suspicion.”

“And what about the boy?”

“Which one?” I asked from the corner of my mouth, making sure I didn’t give too much away.

“The three-eyed raven.”

“Ah, the one who is responsible for this,” I noted, and pulled down my collar to show him my scar. “He took it upon himself to go up north.”

“What if he should see what you have done?”

“Who will he tell? Jon Snow? I’m sure he has far too much on his mind to worry about that. It is only a matter of time till he learns the truth, and my presence at Winterfell will be the least of his worries.”

“You seem so sure of it.”

“Aren’t I always,” I teased, and leant upon the fireplace as though I had all the time in the world. I was stroking my beard when I mused, “I always wondered how Sansa would react if she found out her brother is a Targaryen.”

“But you said you wouldn’t-”

“I’m allowed to change my mind!”

“It could ruin everything!” Parcelle exclaimed, nearly falling out of his char with excitement.

“Or, it could speed up the process.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Why do you care? It’s not like it will affect you?”

“If you fall… I fall.”

“You needn’t worry, Parcelle. I have everything under control.”

“You still don’t have proof!” he pointed out, waving his hands around in triumphant.

“Who needs proof?” I asked, while toying with a carved direwolf that decorated the sparse wooden shelf. “All I need to do is to plant a seed and watch it _grow._ ”

“Into something horrible,” he warned.

“Into chaos,” I rebutted, and knocked the direwolf down to its side.

“Your making a big mistake! Let the boy think he is a Stark for a little longer. What can you possibly gain from this?”

“A certainty that Winterfell shall _always_ belong to Sansa Stark. That Jon Snow’s support is inevitably snuffed out, and if they still want him to be the King of the North than I shall find a way to deal with him.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. What’s in it for you?”

“If Jon should fall... Sansa will be the most powerful woman in all of Westeros, aside from Cersei Lannister of course. I intend to align myself with her.”

“Meaning?”

“I intend to ask Sansa Stark to be my wife.”

Parcelle laughed at this, smacking his knee with gusto. Tears were coming down his eyes as he cried out, “Her? The same woman who refused you before? The very one that gave the orders to kill you? Oh, you really are a fool!”

I snarled at him, furious that he should even consider this a laughing matter _. Of course, I will marry Sansa._

“You’re a fool,” he said darkly. “Didn’t you tell me earlier she wasn’t even there when you woke up this morning?”

“She got cold feet,” I said dismissively.

“Well, perhaps you weren’t warm enough,” he gibed.

Today had been horrible; Sansa had avoided me the entire day. The Small Council meeting was dreadful, for Sansa could scarcely look me in the eye the entire afternoon, even the council members started to pick up on her strange behaviour.

“I hope I have nothing to worry about,” Lord Royce chided, after the rest of the council members departed from the room. His lips twisted with malice the longer he looked at my impassive, dead-pan expression which revealed nothing of our events last night.

“Lady Sansa and I had a _disagreement,_ that is all. I’m sure it will be cleared up soon.”

The disagreement, of course, was her sneaking out of my chamber room before it was even dawn. Perhaps, she did get cold feet? Or maybe she second guessed everything? Or she wasn’t ready to accept what we had done? Whatever it was, Sansa was driving me crazy, and her prolonged absence only made the situation worse.

“You really think she will accept your offer?” Parcelle asked, the severity in his voice disturbed me greatly, perhaps more than it should.

“Of course, she will! After all, I am a man that gets what he wants.”

“Yes… but what does she want?” he asked slyly. I never heard Parcelle laugh harder then when I stormed out of his room. _She’ll accept it,_ I told myself, though it did nothing to ease my worries of her rejecting me _again._

* * *

The keys to my chamber room was dangling in my hand when I heard nervous shuffling coming from inside my room.

 _Myranda,_ I assumed, but then I remembered I told her I was feeling unwell today and persuaded her not to visit me tonight. _Sansa,_ I thought, and that alone made me rush to the door like a madman, but when I opened the door I was struck by an unexpected visitor in my room.

 


	21. The Oncoming Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter for the things to come, so pay particular attention to whatever the characters are saying. As always, I hope you enjoy the climb.
> 
> \- petyrbaaaeeelish

**Jamie**

I blinked open my eyes to see clouds black as coal, swelling like a woman about to give birth. _A storm is coming,_ it could be felt all around me, as the howling wind blew great gusts of snow into my face. I pulled my hands out of the warm blanket to wiped at my sleepy eyes. Delirious with sleep, I pulled the blanket over my head, but as I slunk myself deeper into the covers I heard a voice- a man’s voice. _Brienne,_ I panicked, and pulled my head out of the covers to see two figures not far from me. One appeared to be rather large man, heavy set with a long white coat with grey trimmings along the collar; the other was just a boy, and yet, he had the air of someone much older. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and blinked a few more times until my vision was fully restored, and I could recognize the two figures huddled together round the dwindling fire.

“Tyrion!” I yelled and raised myself higher to get a better look at him. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

My brother waddled over to me. “Hello Jamie, you look like shit!”

“Ah, is it too late to take it back?”

“Only if you want too,” he quipped, and shot me a fiendish grin.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way back from the Queen’s camp. Varys and I are going to Winterfell.”

“Winterfell?”

“Yes, it seems I’m more useful behind a castle wall than on the battlefield.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” I breathed, eyeing him to see if that was what he truly believed.

“I’ve been worse. Believe me.” He handed me some of his breakfast and sat down beside me. “Come on, Varys, don’t be shy,” he taunted, inclining his head towards Lady Brienne’s bed so he could be seated too.

“Ser Jamie. It is a pleasure to see you again,” he remarked, as he awkwardly sat down on the floor. He looked like he belonged on plush cushions, rather than the ragged blanket of fur he was currently sitting on.

“You can cut the civilities. I know you’ve never been fond of me.”

“You mistake me, Ser Jamie. It is your sister I’ve never been fond of.”

Tyrion laughed, enjoying Varys witticism. _At least someone is._

“Well, I’m not exactly fond of her either.”

“You mustn’t be, if you’re here,” my brother pointed out.

“She said I was committing treason,” I groaned. “She was going to _kill_ me.”

“And yet, you’re here! Helping the other side.”

“I’m not helping the other side. I gave my word that I would do everything in my power to help win this war, and I intend to keep it.”

“You’ve changed,” he pointed out. “That isn’t the Jamie I used to know.”

“People change… that’s what they do.”

“I reckon she might have something to do with it.” He pointed down below, revealing Lady Brienne having a deep conversation with the Stark boy.

I stood up on my feet and hobbled over to a tree, so I could lean on it. “What the hell is she doing? Why is she down there _alone!_ ”

“Relax. She’ll be fine!” Tyrion yelled over his breakfast.

“Do you have any idea what he did to me?”

“Lady Brienne told us,” Varys piped up. “You’re lucky to be alive, my friend.”

“We should go to her! We should help her before its too late.”

“One would think it was Cersei down there,” Tyrion observed. “You really do care for her.”

I huffed in indignation and hobbled away from them as fast as I could. _Damn leg,_ I thought, as the sharp pain went through my leg every time I took a step through the deep snow. I looked back at Tyrion and Varys, annoyed that they were still watching me from atop the hill. _I spend way too much time caring what other people think,_ I mused, before I finally made eye contact with Lady Brienne. I raised a hand to her in silent greeting, and she did the same. She caught the heavy limping of my right leg and quickly came over to me.

“You should be resting,” she chided. She placed her arm around my waist for support, and I in turn strung my golden hand around her shoulder until I could rest all my weight on her. She blushed slightly, but reason must have prevailed, for she instructed me to put the remainder of my weight on her. “I’m strong. I can take it,” she assured me, tightening her grip around my large frame.

“I’ve rested long enough,” I replied in a tired voice, my head inches away from hers. “Besides, I want to speak to him.”

“In that case, give me your sword.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you.”

“I won’t kill him.” _I’ll just nick him a bit, a painful reminder not to do that again._

“Jamie,” she warned. She stretched out her hand in front of me, patiently waiting for me to surrender my weapons. I placed my gloved hand in hers instead, and to my surprise she halted her steps.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. It just felt… right,” I admitted, noticing her face was slowly turning into a shade of a bright red tomato.

“Nice to see the two of you are finally making some progress,” Tyrion quipped, as he waddled past us.

“Come on,” she said in a gruff voice, and shoved me forward so we could meet the Stark boy first.

“Tell him exactly what you told me,” she barked, once we stood right in front of The Three-Eyed Raven. “Tell him _why_ you did it.”

“I needed to know,” he whispered. “I had to know if I could control someone with their own will power- their own mind.’

“Why?” I asked.

“Because there will come a time when I need too. And I had to know if I’m strong enough to maintain it.”

“Who must you control?” Lady Brienne asked.

“It’s not a question of who? But _what_?” He paused, his eyes flickered over the pair of us before he continued, “In time I will not walk, but fly. I will be one with a dragon.”

“A dragon?” she said with surprise.

“Did someone say dragon?” Tyrion piped up, as he and Varys approached the sled. “I know all about dragons.”

“Tyrion was the Hand of Queen Daenerys,” Varys explained. “And I believe these creatures developed a fondness for him.”

“Yes, but not enough for me to fly them,” Tyrion pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

 “I will,” Bran answered airily. “But so will another.”

“Daenerys’ would _never_ allow that.” The boy said nothing, he simply looked away from us, as if he suddenly grew weary of our presence. “She already lost one dragon, she will do anything she can to not lose another.” Tyrion followed Bran’s gaze as he mused, “Sometimes, I wonder if should have stayed with her, but I _feel_ I would be more useful at Winterfell.”

“He will not be pleased,” Bran suddenly said, his gaze still fixed on that bright yellow orb that was flickering among the grey shadows of the oncoming storm.

“ _Who_ will not be pleased?”

“The King of the North.”

Tyrion laughed with amusement, shaking his head in the process while looking at us. “Jon Snow is already aware of my departure. He even asked me to pass on a small letter to his sister.”

Bran blinked a few times before he turned his head to Lady Brienne. “I should like to join you by the fire now.”

“Yes, of course. Ser Jamie help me move this sled.”

“What?” I exclaimed, still feeling some sort of resentment towards the boy.

“Just do it,” she said sternly.

“Fine!” I shot out, before I joined her at the hip and began to pull the sled alongside her.

“You weren’t talking about Jon Snow, were you?” she suddenly asked, through heated breaths.

“No,” Bran said woodenly, turning his head to make sure Tyrion and Varys were not listening. “Someone else will be King.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. I was almost certain of it, since there was a nervous crack in his voice. _It is almost_ _as if he’s in pain,_ I mused, _or is it fear that makes his eyebrows lower so low over his eyes?_

“Well, I don’t know about you!” Brienne yelled, as she heaved at the rope. “But I intend to find out.”


	22. Hot Summer Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

I was dipping my hands in a washbowl when I felt a shiver down my spine, like something big was coming. Call it intuition, but I knew Lord Baelish was in the room before I even turned around.

“Lord Baelish?” My servant, Eva, exclaimed. I could hear her in the main room finishing up her tasks, probably lighting a few more candles on the dining table, laying out the fruit platter to my expectations. There was an earnestness in her voice when she assured him that she was sent here.

“By whom?” he drawled, his voice echoing across his chamber room.

“By me,” I exclaimed, as I stepped out of his bathroom. His chest heaved at the sight of me, frozen for a moment before his head tilted downward with what looked like a smile.

“That will be all, Eva,” I ordered, and waited till she departed from Lord Baelish’s chamber before I made my way towards him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” I replied, echoing his words from not so long ago.

“You left me,” he said with resentment. His hands wrung the back of his chair with agitation. “You just up and left me without even saying goodbye.”

“I was scared,” I confessed. “I needed more time.”

“For what?” He asked in a quavering voice, it was clear his anger was close to reaching its breaking point.

“Petyr, I never- I never intended for it to go that far. It just happened! But I’m glad it happened… I just needed time to see it.” I reached for his hands, gingerly holding a few stray fingers in my own. “And I do see it now, you must believe me.”

He pursued his lips with slight annoyance before he asked, “Do you regret it?”

“Leaving you, then yes.” I took both of his hands now and held it tightly, stroking my thumb along the deep ridges running down the back of his hands. “I’m sorry.” He simply nodded his head in understanding. “I thought we should start over. Try this again.”

“Alright,” he said soberly, after he finally looked up to lock eyes with mine.

“I’ve had Eva make your place more comfortable,” I commented, and looked around his room with a satisfied smile. “We have a fire this time…”

Half a smile appeared on his face as he squinted at the blazing fire. “You really out did it.”

“I didn’t want to be cold this time.” I tugged his hand and led him closer to the table. “And I brought you some treats. These fruits are rare now that winter is finally here. See, there’s oranges and apples and I managed to find a few strawberries.” _I’m rambling,_ I realized, his heated gaze made me nervous. “And I brought wine, for I know how fond you are of it. Perhaps, you can open it and we can try some.”

“Alright,” he said cheerily, and stretched across me to reach for the bottle. I felt a nervous tingling inside of me, like a swarm of butterflies fluttering at the bottom of my stomach. “Hand me a glass, will you?” he asked, pointing at the tall glass beside me.

My hands trembled as I placed them in front of him. “Are you cold?” he asked, tilting his body a little so he could get a better look at me.

 _No, I’m just nervous._ “I’m fine,” I said in a high-pitch voice while fidgeting with the empty wine glass in front of me.

“Stand next to the fire. I’ll be there shortly.”

I did as I was instructed, idly stirring the fire until he finally he came around with two full glasses of wine. “You look different,” he remarked, as he eyed my bright burnt orange dress with wonder.

“I’m not in black,” I mused, careful to avoid his searching eyes. “I was thinking… about King’s Landing this evening, and how you were the only one who was my friend- my true friend.”

Petyr took a step forward with a small smile. “I remember.”

“Well, as much as I like the cold I thought it would be nice to pretend we were back at King’s Landing, except Joffrey and the rest of the Lannister’s aren’t there.”

He chuckled, before he took a long sip of the Dornish wine.

“I even burnt some incense, so it smells like the gardens there,” I exclaimed, slightly bobbing up and down in the air with excitement. “And I had the servants make us lemon cake.”

“Your favourite,” he noted, his smile growing wider than ever before.

“Yes,” I replied, stroking the edges of the cup nervously. _He’s looking at me that way again._ “I hope you don’t think this sounds silly.”

“Not at all. It sounds charming.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do,” he replied in a clear voice. The lids of his eyes batted slowly as he drank me in. “But I can think of something better.”

“What?”

He closed the gap between us and set both of our wine glasses on the ledge atop the fireplace. “This,” he breathed, as he drew my face forward and kissed me.

“Oh,” was the only thing I could muster as he moved his face away from me. Everything felt warm and fuzzy, it was like my mind was in a haze. _Why does everything feel different? Why does the smallest touch from him set me on fire?_

“Is something the matter, Sansa?”

“No, I’m fine,” I said too sharply, which made him frown fiercely.

“Come, come, tell me what it is.”

“I don’t know. I _feel_ different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know.” I licked my lips, feeling the warmth of his breath in front of me. _It’s like I’m drowning in mint,_ I thought, as he parted his lips ever so slightly.

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Kiss me,” I found myself saying. My hands were already roaming across his chest before he leaned in to kiss me again; forming his mouth over mine as if he was swallowing me whole. His nails dug into my waist, clawing at the smooth fabric of my dress. I in turn was buttoning down his tunic, hearing the buttons snap as I frantically tore it down the center.

“Are you sure?” he asked, after most of his chest was exposed. “I don’t want to force you into anything.”

“Yes. I’ve made up my mind.” My hand lovingly stroked the side of his cheek as I quietly assured him that every word of it was true.

“Will you leave me in the morning?”

“Never.”

“Cause if you did I’d be really angry with you,” he said from the corner of his mouth, the raspiness of his voice remind me of Littlefinger.

“I know. I promise I won’t leave you.”

“How about we enjoy this delicious bottle of Dornish wine and the food that you have so graciously provided, and then we can have some fun, hmm.”

I laughed at him and took up my glass with pleasure. “Here’s to us,” I said as I raised my glass in the air.

“Is this a special occasion?” he asked, after he clanged his glass against mine.

“To a new beginning. It’s as you said, the past is the past, we must look to the future now.”

Petyr drank some of his wine merrily, while he watched me. Something was churning in his mind, but he didn’t speak it aloud, instead he poured some more wine into his glass in silent musings. “What do you see in your future?” he suddenly asked, while his gaze was still focused on the half-empty bottle.

“I want to rule Winterfell.”

“Anything else?” his brogue uncommonly heavy as he uttered it.

“No.”

“Then perhaps you should give it some thought,” he replied in a curious voice before he returned to my side. He was standing so close, nearly brushing up against my frame. The heat from the fireplace only added to the warmth of the room. He was looking at me now, I could feel his gaze even when my own was directed at the untouched glass of wine. “Why did you come back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you come back _here?_ ”

“I already told you,” I scolded, before I nervously took a sip of the wine to fill the awkward pause.

“You did… but you didn’t.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

I set the glass on the table before I walked away from him. I went over to his open windows and sat down on a bench propped up against the wall, so I could look at the millions of stars that stretched across the night sky. It was colder here, so I was slightly grateful when Petyr took a seat beside me.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he breathed.

“Yes,” I said in a gentle tone, while I continued to look outside.

“I meant you, Sansa,” he drawled. He was waiting for me to make eye contact with him and he smiled slightly when I did finally lock eyes with him. “I think I know why you came back, but I wanted you to say it.”

“I told you-”

“I know what you said,” he interrupted. “But I also know what you didn’t say.”

I fidgeted with the ties of my dress, wishing we didn’t have to engage in this conversation any further. His hands went on top of mine, steadying them till I had no choice but to look up at him.

“I’m not like the others. I would never hurt you. And its okay to feel this way… scared, confused, fearful.” He brought my hands forward till they rested on his lap, closely intertwined with his own. “But you can’t let fear control you.”

Petyr raised one hand up and kissed the back of it. _I hope you know that I am your friend, Sansa, your true friend,_ echoed in the back of my mind, and as I looked up at this man I knew it was true, and yet, I wanted more- all of it. _I want his love,_ I realized, _and I want to love him in return._

It wasn’t until his lips remained at the back of my hand that I knew what I was afraid of: _love._ But if Petyr was unafraid to love me after all this time, shouldn’t I?

“I don’t want to be afraid.”

“Then don’t,” he hushed. His hand went up to cup the side of my cheek, stroking it lovingly till I leaned forward to kiss him. _It’s okay to feel this way,_ I thought, as he drew me closer to his chest. I went on my knees on the bench and he spread out his legs, so I could come in closer, I was towering over him as he inclined his head upwards to endow me with fervent kisses. My hands pulled down his tunic completely, so I could feel the warmth of his skin and rub my hands down his firm back. “I love you,” I hushed, while are lips were barely apart. His deft hands covered the whole of my ass, before he lifted me up and carried me to bed.

“Say it again,” he pleaded. He stood at the front of the bed, watching me move myself further back until I was nuzzled between his plush pillows. “Say it.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“What?” I laughed, shaking my head in bewilderment.

“I’ve waited so long to hear those words.”

“I love you, Petyr Baelish.”

Before I knew it, he was on top of me, showering me with kisses; rolling me around across the silk sheets till he pinned me firmly to the center of the bed. His eyes asked me a question and I nodded my head in reply. He began to untie my dress, and once that was free he pulled it from the bottom until I was completely bare under his heated gaze. Gaining some confidence, I went on my knees and dragged my hands down his chest till my fingers met the seams of his woolen pants. I could see the great bulge there and I fondled it teasingly before I pulled down the waist band to his pants, so I could see him in all his glory. He shot me a wicked grin before he leaned me back onto the bed. “Do you like the name Baelish?” he asked out of nowhere, as he situated himself on top of me, the hardness of his cock made me wet, something he delighted in as his right hand glided up my inner thigh until he stroked my outer core.

“I guess so, why?” I asked in a raspy voice, trying to not lose it as his finger dipped inside of me.

“Oh nothing,” he replied, though he eyed me curiously with a strange look in his eye. He pulled his finger out and let the palms of his hands glide across my outer arms. “I was only curious.”

“Why? Are you going to change your name?” I teased.

“I was hoping to change yours.”

My mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, suddenly realizing what he was implying all along. _He wants to marry me! Of course, he wants to marry me, that’s been his plan all along. But did he want to marry me for love, or to strengthen our political alliances?_

“You don’t seem pleased,” he said nervously.

“I was just questioning your intentions.”

“My intention is to marry you, sweetling.”

“So, you can rule the North.”

“By your side, then yes,” he quickly said. “But also, because I happened to love you.”

“So, you hit two birds with one stone.”

He laughed at that, and blurted out, “I guess you can say that.”

“How romantic,” I quipped, and rolled away from him.

“It was just an idea. Forget I ever mentioned it.”

“How can I forget it?”

“Try,” Petyr urged, his head pushing into the crook of my neck, so he could kiss me, his beard tickling my sensitive skin as he forced himself into the small crevice. I groaned in annoyance, so he rolled me over till I faced him, and only then did he begin to separate my legs. “Try, otherwise, I’ll have to distract you,” he remarked with a conniving grin.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“Then let-me-delay,” he grunted, before he went on top of me, pressing the tip of his cock inside my core.

“But what if I want to accept?”

“What?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“What if I want to be Sansa Baelish?”

He replied by pushing himself into me, slamming his lips on mine to devour me whole. My nails dug into his back as he violently rammed into me, feeling my entire body shudder at the impact. I wailed and screamed out his name, quite forgetting that everyone in the castle could probably hear us by now. _That will have to wait until the morning,_ I thought, for a split second, before his fingers rubbed around my clit. “That’s right, sweetling, keep saying my name,” he growled, as each thrust went deeper inside of me. I gasped from the impact, nails digging into the side of his hips as he rained down upon me, shedding his seed deep inside my womb. I could feel him in my bones, taste his sweat on my lips, smell his odour and the last remains of minty breath as his teeth nipped at my sensitive skin. I heard him shudder as he pumped into me one last time, the way his breath escaped him as he fell upon me, and the way his legs crumbled upon the bed as he just laid on top of me. I was weak, but I had enough strength to stroke his bangs away from his face, so I could see those mossy green eyes clearly. “Sansa Baelish,” he muttered under his breath, before he kissed my lips tenderly, nipping at my bottom lip playfully before he pulled his lips away. “What a beautiful bride you will make?”

I smiled at him softly, feeling a soft blush rise to my cheeks. He stroked my long auburn hair behind my ear and kissed the side of my left cheek before he whispered, “Go to sleep, my sweet. I’ll be right here to keep you warm.”

“I won’t leave,” I promised, after he slipped himself out of me and crawled to the edge of the bed to retrieve the fur blankets that we tossed aside in our frenzied state.

He pulled the blankets over us and nuzzled himself beside me until our bodies were entangled together. “I know,” he whispered, as I was slowly lulling off to sleep. “My wife would never leave me.” He paused for a moment, brushing his face against the side of my arm before he added, “And I will never leave her.”

 


	23. Kings of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Preface:
> 
> Ceaseless wonderings on a cool winter night,  
> But it is the paleness of the morning sun  
> which stills my thoughts. Gone is the pain,  
> The eternal light shines through my window.  
> The deep dark cavern of my mind is torn apart.  
> Her love has set my demons free.  
> Her kisses are like the sweetness of spring,  
> Her hands are like a wild tempest  
> rolling over my frame. How can I hate  
> something so lovely? How can I harm  
> something so fair? The anger which burned  
> within me has turned to ashes and dust.  
> Let her love rejuvenate me,  
> Let it be my rebirth,  
> Let it balm and soothe me until  
> I realize my true worth.
> 
> -petyrbaaaeeelish

**Petyr**

I let out a long sigh as I gazed out into the twinkling light from the morning sun. A gust of cold air brushed past my half-naked form, while small flakes of snow billowed through my open window. For once in my life I felt at peace with my surroundings. I heard Sansa stir in my bed behind me. Another moment passed before I heard her bare feet pad across the frigid floor. Her warm hands arrested my waist, circling around my lean figure until she laid her hands over my beating chest.

“You’re up early,” she hushed.

“I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away again.”

“A promise is a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

She laid her cheek on the back of my neck; her soft breath warmed my right shoulder. We were happy in our companionable silence, grateful that words were not necessary to enjoy each others company. I leaned into her, liking the feeling of her hardened nipples on the back of my spine. She was cold and so was I, but the harsh reality that winter is here is necessary for my future plans- my plans that now included her.

“Sansa,” I hushed, as I turned around to face her. I instinctively cupped the side of her cheek with my hand, gently stroking the side of her face with my thumb. “How are you feeling?”

“I am happy,” she replied in a hush voice.

“And do you still wish to marry me?”

“I do.”

“ _When_ do you wish to marry me?” I asked with some hesitation.

“Now,” she laughed. “As soon as possible.”

“Are you sure?” I was completely taken back by her answer, even more so when she wrapped her arm around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss.

“I am.”

“Then we will be married by the ‘morrow.” I sealed it with a kiss, lips parting so my tongue could slip though. _Will I ever grow tired of her taste? Will I ever get bored of her lips on mine?_ She was pressing herself on me, hungry for more. “You haven’t had your fill of me, yet,” I teased, as she tightened the lush curls at the top of my head with the tips of her fingers.

“Never.”

I laughed, while steering her towards my bed but something caught my eye in the morning light. “Wait!” I let her go and went over to my bed robe to retrieve my secret set of keys.

“What is it?” she asked, as she followed me around the room. I threw my robe over her naked form and made my way around the room to retrieve certain documents from my locked cabinet.

“I want to show you something.” I placed the stacks of paper on my desk, next to the sealed note from the Vale which originally caught my attention. _That can wait._ “Have a seat,” I instructed, as I shoved the letter away from Sansa’s view. I flickered over the stacks of paper until I found exactly what I was looking for.

“It’s a financial report,” she observed, once I placed the document in front of her. “For the Vale.”

“They are doing quite well for themselves, I made sure of that. All those years at King’s Landing, I’ve been buying grain and storing it in private granaries because I knew one day winter would come, and I wanted to be ready for that day. Already, there is a food shortage across the Seven Kingdoms and it will only grow worse.” I pulled out a map of Westeros and pointed at a small piece of land beside the Vale. “Here there is more grain than you could ever imagine. I have similar establishments all in the Northern-Eastern part of Westeros. Now…” I paused and slid my finger back to the rather extravagant depiction of the Vale. “I have provided more than enough food for the Vale to last the winter. They are my ally and I intend to keep it that way. But… it is King’s Landing that should be our number one concern. I’ll have to keep a careful eye on that.”

“Why?” Sansa asked, like an attentive pupil.

“Because hungry people are unhappy people. They already dislike the Queen and a foreign ruler with two dragons will undoubtedly strike fear and admiration to the people. This predicament will work to our advantage.”

“So, what are you trying to say?”

“I am saying, my love, that I am already planning for our future.” I caught a stray ringlet and twirled it around my finger playfully. While I was looking at the coppery shine of her auburn locks that glimmered in the morning light I muttered, “And if the chips fall where I want them too, we might very well be the future King and Queen of Westeros.”

“You still want the Iron Throne!”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“But why?”

“What does a man who has everything want? The Iron Throne, of course.”

She grunted fiercely before she turned away from me. “Some men arm themselves with swords… others arm themselves in gold. I do both, my love,” I explained, as I sauntered after her. “Why should we be content with Winterfell when we can have them all?”

“Isn’t being the King of the North enough.”

“Its just another step in the ladder.”

“What ladder?”

“The ladder to everything, my sweet.” I laid my hands on the sides of her shoulder, lightly rocking her back and forth till she submitted to my whims. “And besides, who said anything about me being the King of the North?”

Her cheeks turned a violent shade of red, once she realized her fatal error. “I thought… that’s what you wanted.”

“I do, but Jon Snow stands in the way.”

“Yes,” she said in a strange little voice. Her eyes darting away from me in a peculiar manner.

“Sansa,” I drawled, sensing she was hiding something from me.

“It’s just that- I want it too.”

A sly smug spread across my face, I was most pleased with this news. Her earnest confession sealed the nail in Jon Snow’s coffin, already the spindle was turning to unravel his fate. There would be another herald the King of the North, and it would not be him.

* * *

“You’re enjoying this,” Sansa said in a sly little voice, as she leaned against the battlements and looked over the parapet.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know _exactly_ what I mean.”

“I must confess I did enjoy Royce’s reaction when you made the announcement.”

“Yes, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“First, his lands and title were witted away because of my influence in the Vale, and then he had his daughter fucked senselessly every night my me.” I paused and turned my head to look at Sansa. “Did you really expect him to be pleased by the news?”

“No… but I didn’t expect such an outburst.”

I smirked at her, still visualizing the scene from only an hour ago. Sansa was quick to pick out her enemies, anyone who objected to the marriage was met with a steely gaze. If they did not wish to submit and be subservient to me, the future King of the North, then I am not entirely responsible for their ill-fate. Sansa would see to that, I was almost certain of it.

“I should send him away.” There was an edge to her voice, the very sound of it aroused me, but now was not the time to give into my impulses, not when we were standing atop of Winterfell’s battlements for all to see.

“Royce is no longer a Lord, but he has the experience and capability to be a good military commander. We will need his military knowledge for the war to come.”

“The one up north?”

“The Lannisters,” I said from the corner of my mouth, there was a bitterness in the tone of my voice that I could not hide. “If you think Cersei will just leave us alone than you are mistaken.”

“You forget that I lived with her all those years? I know how dangerous she is-”

“But you never worked with her,” I cut in. “You never had to hear her schemes, her hatred for _you_ and your family. I think she is coming, and when she does it will be with a whole army… and it won’t just be the Lannister force.”

“Why would you think that?”

“The War of the Five Kings has cost her dearly. I should know since I was her Master of Coin.” I paused to smile at the remembrance of it, all those years of deceiving the Lannisters while I stored up enough gold to rival Tywin Lannister himself.

“Yes, but that was a while ago,” Sansa pointed out. “Things could change.”

“The recent slaughter she has suffered at the hands of Daenerys and her Dothraki soldiers on the open plains will leave her scrambling for more men. And no amount of gold can convince a man to fight against such an army… and two dragons. Not unless Cersei offers the right amount-”

“She needs allies,” Sansa interrupted, already her mind was sharpening from my influence. _I have chosen my life partner well._

“Exactly. But who can she look to in her time of need?”

“The Freys?”

“Walder Frey’s death has set the Riverlands into chaos. Every man with Walder’s blood running through their veins is fighting to be the head of House Frey. A problem when you have so many children.”

“But if Cersei doesn’t have the Freys then who does she have?”

“No one. Unless…” I leaned off the stony battlement and slowly walked towards her. “You count the Greyjoys.”

Sansa grunted at the mention of their name. “Lady Brienne said she saw Euron Greyjoy at the council meeting in King’s Landing. She said he got scared and ran.”

“Obviously, you haven’t heard of his reputation. Euron is not simply a man who just runs from danger… he runs towards it.”

“Then where did he go?”

“I don’t know. A rare thing, believe me." I lightly ran my fingers down the front of her coat, noticing how she held her breath as my hand loosened a button before I slipped my hand through the small hole of her coat so I could lay the palm of my hand over her breast. _If only we were alone, I would have done so much more._ "Sansa," I said in a husky voice, trying to return my thoughts back to the present moment. "After the wedding we must prepare for the worst.”

“And what is the worst thing that could possibly happen?” she asked, as the lids of her eyes blinked profusely while I tightened my grip over her left breast, kneading her nipple to get her aroused. 

I clapped my free hand atop the rocky parapet and clawed my gloved fingers across the rough surface the moment I heard her quickened breaths. I leaned into her space and whispered, “An attack on Winterfell. We must do everything we can to protect _our_ home." Sansa made a sharp whine before she pulled me in completely and smothered me with kisses. I pressed her against the wall and grinded my hardened cock against her. _Oh, if only we_ _inside,_ I thought, as her nails dug into my shoulders. _If she keeps this up I don't know if I can wait till then._ A pounding of footsteps could be heard in the distance, some of the guardsmen were coming up stairs. I quickly moved away, positioning myself so the guards couldn't see the great bulge in my pants. 

Sansa was smoothing down my ruffled hair when she graciously said, "Royce."

"My Lady," he replied, though he ignored me completely as he led his guardmen across the stony battlements. It wasn't until they were out of hearing distance that Sansa grumbles, "He hates you."

"No matter," I assured her, before I pulled her into my chest again. "Make Royce your military commander. Win his good graces by offering to marry off his daughter if that pleases him. Do _anything_ you can to win his favour."

"But why?" she sadly asked, her fingers trailing down the sides of my silver temples.

"Because these walls are strong, my dear, but I fear Euron’s army may be stronger.”


	24. Khal of Khals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jon**

A loud roar echoed across the sky, followed by the flapping of wings from a great dragon. _Dany,_ I threw down my papers and ran out of my tent to see Drogon racing across the sky, but something was wrong- his left wing was injured.

“Look out!” I screamed to my men, but it was too late. Drogon fell from the sky and crashed against the Dothraki tents with a deafening thud. His injured wing slammed against their apportioned tents without a single regard of those poor, unfortunate creatures that were still inside of it.

Drogon roared fiercely, sending long torrents of fire from his mouth, killing my men in the process as they fled for their lives. _What’s going on,_ I wondered, as I ran into the frightened crowd, gagging on the charnel stench of burnt flesh as I made my way closer to the beast. Someone bumped into me, and I recognized his face at once.

“Ser Jorah,” I remarked, taking in his blackened appearance; the heavy soot from the flames smeared his forehead and cheeks with a greyish complexion.

“Jon,” he quietly said, his sword in hand ready for battle.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“It seems Drogon is attacking us,” he replied, pointing to the frenzied spectacle of Drogon breathing out more fire to the few remaining Dothraki soldiers fighting for their lives.

“Where’s Dany?” I breathed, feeling helpless as I watched the men burn up in flames.

Ser Jorah looked at me with a tightened jaw, obviously my referral to her as _Dany_ had struck a nerve. “There’s only one way to find out,” he grumbled, before he strode towards Drogon.

The dragon heaved out great billows of smoke from his nostrils as he watched us edge ourselves closer to him. I wasn’t exactly pessimistic, but something didn’t feel right- the way Drogon eyed me with those dark red eyes put me on edge. “Lay down your sword,” I ordered, and unsheathed my weapon so Drogon and Ser Jorah could see it. “Unless you want to have the same fate as them,” I added, motioning my head in the direction of the burnt corpses just beside us.

Ser Jorah dropped his sword into the snow and took a step forward. “Khaleesi!” he yelled, hoping beyond hope that she would appear.

“She’s not here,” I observed, as I took my place beside him. “She would have never let him attack the Dothraki soldiers like that.”

“Yes,” he drawled through gritted teeth. “But Drogon would _never_ leave her behind either.”

I watched him take another step forward before I grabbed his arm and held him back. “How can you be so sure he won’t kill you as well?”

“I don’t, but I was there when he was born. Born out of fire and ash. I don’t think he will attack me.”

“But what if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m wrong,” he replied, before he swiped my hand away from him. Slowly he strode towards Drogon, knowing that with each step it might be his last. Into the cloud of smoke he went, and I stood there waiting in deathly silence.

“Khaleesi,” he said, before Drogon let out a low rumble. All of the sounds died away, and I waited for a moment more before I followed after him.

Everything was impenetrable, and then I saw the head of Drogon appear from the cloud of smoke. His red eyes burrowed into me, watching my every movement as I took each step towards him. I held out my hand and fingered the sharp, scaly skin of this mystical creature as it bowed its head in open submission.

“What happened?” I asked, as I heard low rumbling from the great beast. “What’s gotten into you?”

 _First Ghost and now this,_ I thought, as Drogon’s sounds grew louder. Ghost has been howling at the moon for four nights in a row, it has gotten to the point where I had to shoo him away lest the Dothraki’s “Have him for dinner,” or at least they threatened too. _And then there’s the matter with Arya,_ I noted, remembering how Ghost snarled at her whenever she was near. _I just don’t get it, is there something I’m missing?_

“We need to get her inside,” Ser Jorah bellowed, interrupting my thoughts as he brushed past me. Daenerys was carefully tucked away in his arms as he made his way back to camp. Drogon screeched once I dropped my hand back to my side. _He will have to wait,_ I reasoned, before I ran after the knight.

“Is she alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

“Pick up our swords,” he barked, his tone was sharp and to the point as he picked up his pace. Sheathing Longclaw, I picked up his sword off the ground and sprinted after him.

“Jon!” Ser Davos piped up, he appeared amongst a crowd of angry Dothraki soldiers. “I need to speak to you.”

“Not now.”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

“What is it?” I asked, after I stopped in my tracks.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” he replied. “A lot of men were just killed out there.”

“Its beyond our control-”

“Is that what you’re going to say to them?”

“No, I-” I paused, and took in the aggravated crowd. “Tell them I’ll speak to them as soon as I see the Queen safely in her tent. Perhaps, she can explain what happened.”

“So, you want me to buy you time, is that it?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I’ll talk you out of it. But don’t expect the problem to go away.”

“I won’t.” I nodded my head towards the grumbling soldiers before I turned on my heels and made my way to Daenerys’ tent.

* * *

Her tent was dark when I entered it, a low crackling of a fire could be heard off in the distance. I looked around, haunted by the eerie shadows that were casted across the room. I heard a low whispering in the corner of the tent, so I lightly treaded across the fur covered floor until I stood a few feet away from her bed. Ser Jorah was on his knees, placing a wet cloth on Dany’s brow, his lips were moving slowly as he softly sang a song I did not know. In the darkness I heard:

Affa, affa, ammithat Khalessi.

Affa, affa, annithilat affazhat,

Aranat annithat!

Chilat, khaleesi, dognat ahesh chafasar.

 Ser Jorah placed the wet cloth on the side of the bed and took both of Daenerys hands in his. He looked up to the heavens and uttered, “Vezhof! Devolat eyelet driv. Vezhof, evolat…” he paused and laid a hand on her chest. “Heart,” he muttered, before he bowed his head in agony.

“Her heart?” I asked, before I stepped into the light. He opened his eyes to look at me strangely, realizing I had been watching him all along. “What about it?”

“It beats slowly. She is alive, but barely.”

“We need a maester.”

“There-is-none,” he drawled out through gritted teeth.

“Well, we need to do something,” I pointed out, as I knelt down on the other side of her bed. I looked at her face, it was frozen in place; ice crystals decorated her long silver tresses and clung to her outer cloak. I looked down to see her hands were still inside Ser Jorah’s, and I felt anger quell within me at the sight of it. _He still loves her,_ I realized, as I watched him gazing at her face serenely.

“What were you just singing?” I asked, ignoring the anger betrayed in my voice.

“It was a prayer. Though I should have said the traditional one they use to those that are dying, so their souls will ride with their ancestors into the Night Lands.”

“Dany is _not_ a Dothraki.”

“She is more a Dothraki than you will ever realize. Khaleesi is a conqueror, and if she lives she will conquer the world before you and I are through.”

“She’s not just a conqueror. She’s a _queen._ ”

“Oh, yes,” he concurred, after he nodded his head in agreement. Khaleesi is a _chekosshi_ Queen, but she wasn’t born to rule- but to conqueror. She may want the Iron Throne since it is her ancestral right, but that coveted seat will not hold her interests for long.”

“You don’t know that! Why else have we fought so hard to get where we are now? Why else would she ask me to bend the knee?”

He got up from the floor and slowly made his way towards the fire. He stirred it irritably, adjusting the wood until the flames grew to a suitable height. “I have known her since she was a child,” he mused, while his back was still towards me. “I could be wrong, but I know Daenerys better than anyone else.”

He stood up and wiped his dirty hands off a nearby towel. “There was a time when I was sceptical… when I refused to believe in anything. But seeing three dragons being born out of Khal Drogo’s pyre changed all that. Sometimes, I look at her and I see her more than just a Queen, more than just a conqueror… but the Khal of Khals.”

“Khals?” I uttered, noticing how strange this foreign language felt on my unlearned tongue.

“The Stallion Who Mounts the World.”

Just then we heard a loud roar outside our tent. _Drogon,_ I realized, and took up my sword before I sprinted out of the tent.

I ran through the terrified crowd, seeing how they all looked up to see the dragon towering over them.

“Drogon!” I yelled, pushing my way through the people before it was too late. I made my way to the front of the crowd where I saw a line of Dothraki soldiers with their weapons in the air. “Put it down!” I ordered, but they continued to point their spears at the creature.

“Your Queen has fallen off the dragon,” one of them spat out. “She cannot ride him anymore, we now look to a new Khal.”

“Whoever slays the beast becomes the new Khal, and we the _dothrakhqoi,_ ” another one spat out.

“Khaleesi dothralat zhavvorsa!” Ser Jorah roared. He stood next to me before he added, “I took her down in order to inspect her.”

“Why?” asked the largest of the Dothraki soldiers, he towered over Ser Jorah and I easily.

“Because if I didn’t she’d freeze to death.”

“Khaleesi is _not_ strong. I am strong!”

“You’re making a mistake,” I blurted out, but Ser Jorah pushed me back before I upset the man further.

“You kill one dragon the next one will come for you.” The low rumbling of Rhaegal confirmed it. The large green form could be seen off in the distance, as it forced its way through the trees.

“I am not scared of dragon!” the Dothraki man shouted and pounded his chest like a barbican to prove his point.

“I do not doubt it. But save your strength for the war to come.”

Drogon roared as its red eyes stared down the men with suspicion, its pierced wing flapped feebly, betraying his lack of strength. _He’s been hurt,_ I deliberated, _but who hurt him?_ I took a step forward, and I noticed Drogon move backwards. _What’s wrong with him?_

He let out a long harrowing screech before he took to the air. _Where is it going,_ I panicked, as it flew south instead of the direction I needed it to go, which is northwards.

“He’s scared,” Ser Jorah whispered, his voice low enough for only I to hear. “I need to get back to Khaleesi.”

I turned to watch him go, too stunned to follow him back to camp. An ominous roar coming from Rhaegal made me look in his direction, and it was there that I saw the sun being covered in the sky but a black circular eclipse. A torrential wind succeeded, which made all the men run into their tents, but I stayed out in the dark and the cold, and watched as the sun momentarily blinked out of the shadowy eclipse and rose in the west instead of the east.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: I referred to the online Dothraki dictionary for Ser Jorah Mormont prayer, and the dialogue between the Dothraki soldiers and Ser Jorah Mormont. The Dothraki's do in fact pray for the soul's of their loved ones who are dying, so their spirit may fly to the ancestral plain. I could not find an actual prayer in George R.R. Martin's novel or on the web, so I created my own. Below is a loose translation of the prayer and the brief interaction between the Dothraki soldiers and the Ser Jorah.
> 
> affa, affa, ammithat, khaleesi.  
> Shh, shh to rest, khaleesi.
> 
> affa, affa, annithilat affazhat,  
> Shh, shh, to encourage, to warm, 
> 
> arranat annithat!  
> to drop the things that cause you pain/hurt,
> 
> Chilat, khaleesi, dognat ahesh chafasar.  
> To lie down, khalessi, to suffer from snowy climate.
> 
> Vezhof! Devolat eyelat driv. Vezhof, evolat... heart.  
> Great Stallion! To know how to move something dead. Great Stallion, to start... heart.
> 
> Loose Translation of what Ser Jorah angrily said to the Dothraki soldiers: 
> 
> Khaleesi dothralat zhavvorsa!  
> Khaleesi (can) ride (the) dragon!
> 
> In other words, Khaleesi can ride the dragon, but Ser Jorah taking her off Drogon spells disaster for them, because the Dothraki now see her as weak and unable to lead the men any further. It is a similar situation to when Khal Drogo fell off his horse and his men abandoned him because he was no longer suited to be there leader.
> 
> I highly recommend you check out the Dothraki dictionary when you have a chance. It is an interesting read. We have one more adventure in King's Landing before we get to see Petyr and Sansa's wedding. Hope to see you then.
> 
> \- petyrbaaaeeelish


	25. The Queen's Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Cersei**

“All hail, Cersei Lannister! Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” bellowed across the throne room before I took my seat. I glided the tips of my fingers against the sharp blades that made it the _Iron Throne._

_Power is power,_ I reminded myself as I watched every man bow before me. A loud thud beside me called my attention, and I turned to see my most faithful servant, The Mountain, towering over beside me; the frightful look in every man’s eyes as they stared up at him, pleased me greatly.

I nodded my head towards a feeble looking man to start the procession. He cleared his throat before he yelled out, “The Queen will now hear your concerns.”

A dark-haired man stepped forward with his son by his side. He was fidgeting with a small piece of paper in his hand before he addressed me, “My name is Johnathon Froth, and this is my son Jimmy. I own a tavern in King’s Landing, a small humble place for about ten years now. Business was doing well, and I was able to support my family. But if there continues to be a food shortage in King’s Landing, and the price of grain rises any higher, than I may very well be out of business within a month. I was hoping, your Grace, whether you can assure me and my loyal customers that you will put an end to this madness. Grain is grain, your Grace, I shouldn’t have to sell me chickens just to get enough grain to bake a loaf of bread. Quite frankly, if this keeps up any longer I think I’ll have to move out of King’s Landing. And I don’t want to do that… not when me boys in school, and I invested so much into this city and me customers for the past ten years. So, what I’m trying to ask is, can you help us?”

“And what would you have me do?”

“Stop those bastards from selling grain at such a high price.”

“They are selling it at a high price, because there is a shortage of it.”

“Well, isn’t there something you can do about it?”

“I have ordered my men to retrieve every piece of grain near King’s Landing to be stored in the Lannister treasury. When the time is right we will sell it at a reasonable price.”

“And when will that be? In case you haven’t noticed there is a lot of starving people on the street, and its not getting any better.”

“I am aware of the situation,” I quipped. “It will be dealt with.”

The man nodded his head in understanding before he asked, “When?”

_When I have the Mountain cut you down and spill your guts across the throne room floor. Who is he to ask me ‘When?’_ “When the time is convenient. You are dismissed!” With a wave of my hand, I ushered the guards to escort him out before I had a chance to change my mind. “Next!”

A short little man approached, the tips of his fingers buried in his thick beard as he stared up at me. He seemed a bit hesitant before he finally spoke up, “Gregory Taylor, an accountant for Lord Thorne. I have come on his behest to inquiry whether you have a plan for the grainry crisis which has struck all of King’s Landing over the past several weeks.”

“Mr. Taylor, I know you just heard my answer to the last gentlemen, so I am curious why you even bothered to ask me.”

“I am aware-”

“I don’t think so,” I interrupted. “Or you would have not asked me at all!”

“I need to know _when,_ ” he stated with an air of authority.

“When it is convenient to do so.”

“My Lord will not be pleased with that answer.”

“Your Lord is an insignificant speck in King’s Landing! His name means nothing to me. And if he is not pleased with that answer then he should come to me, instead of sending an arrogant little bastard like yourself.” I paused to watch his reaction, the furious expression that he could hardly contain. “You have wasted my time! You have wasted the people behind you time. I suggest you leave now before I get rid of the waste that stands before me now.”

The man promptly turned on his heels and left, before he was out the door I shouted, “And if anyone has any more _questions_ about the grain crisis, I suggest you leave as well.”

More then two-thirds of the people left the room, quietly ushering themselves out the door before I gave into my wrath further. I turned my head to the remaining crowd, and my gaze alone made them all leave, except one. He stepped forward and offered me a small smile before he bowed towards me. “Your Grace, my name is Brayden Farquhar. I come from a small house up north… once you’ve probably never heard of.”

He paused to smile at me again, small dimples gracing his smooth cheeks. He cleared his throat before he continued, “I am aware of the grain crises in King’s Landing, and I’ve come to help. House Farquhar is loyal to the Crown, and we offer you the grain we have stored up over the past several years along with some rare vegetation that is hard to come by now that winter is finally here. In return, I would like to offer my services and be a member of your small council.”

“And why should I accept your offer? Why should I allow you to be a member?”

“Because I offer you the grain free of charge, for the benefit of the Crown and its people,” he answered. “And I am an excellent business man, and I may be able to assist you with the crisis that is currently spreading across King’s Landing and beyond.”

_This is too good to be true, there must be a catch._ “And how do you benefit from this exchange?”

“Being a part of your small council is the only benefit I need,” he assured me. _He reminds me of Littlefinger, I’ve seen that look in his eyes before. Very well, his ambitions may prove useful to me._

“Then I accept your offer.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” he said in a pleasant voice, before he offered me a low bow in gratitude.

_Yes, Lord Baelish and him would have gotten on swimmingly,_ I mused, _and I need a man as clever as him if I’m to put an end to this grain crisis._ “Then I shall see you in the council room tomorrow morning,” I noted, as I rose up from my seat.

“I look forward to it,” he replied, before he shot me a dashing smile. I felt his relentless gaze as I made my way out of the room. After all theses years I still strike admiration in the hearts of men. If only Jamie could see this, he’d thrust his sword into the man’s heart without a second thought. _Jamie was always_ _so jealous,_ I deliberated, as I rubbed the bottom of my stomach. _Perhaps, this Farquhar is just what I need to get over my brother._

I paused outside of the throne room to look out an open window, looking beyond the grey old houses of this ancient city to see a small strip of gravel that would inevitably lead to The King’s Road. _Jamie went_ _that way,_ I mused, _but where did he go once he led his horse up that infamous road?_ The road twisted and turned in my line of sight until it got lost in the trees far ahead, but I knew it could stretch on forever. _He went north,_ my conscience told me, and I felt a pain in my chest just thinking about it. _He betrayed me- he betrayed our family. He’ll pay for this,_ I silently resolved, _they’ll all pay._

* * *

Brayden looked around the small council room uneasily, taking in the empty chairs around him before he returned his gaze back to Qyburn and I. “Is anyone else coming?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“No one,” I replied after I gave him a fake smile. “Most of the them are dead. A few have become betrayers to the realm. They hide up north… thinking their safe behind their castle walls, but that won’t last for long.”

Brayden swallowed hard under my steely gaze; it was clear he bit off more than he could chew. No matter, it was only a matter of time before he learned to play the game.

“So, I am the only one,” he pondered aloud. “There is no one hear to council you.”

“I have Qyburn,” I replied, and raised my hand in the elderly man’s direction. “He is all the council I need.”

“I see.”

“Now, should we get down to business.” I didn’t want to be in this room, I’ve been avoiding it ever since Tommen died. All I could see were ghosts in these empty chairs- memoires of what once was. _My father sat here,_ I remembered, _and Parcelle, Varys and Littlefinger on his left. I was on his right, always listening- always learning because I knew one day I would be Queen._

“I’ve been thinking…” Brayden said with some hesitation, sensing my thoughts had drifted away since the last time I spoke. “About some solutions to the grain crisis.” He unrolled a small map of Westeros that he kept in his inner pocket and sprawled it across the table.

“Based on my understanding it is only King’s Landing that is really suffering from the grain crisis. The other major cities in Westeros are sufficiently supplied with grain, so I was wondering if you could make a deal with them… maybe even buy it off them-”

“Or take it!” I interjected. “I am Queen, after all.”

“Yes, but a fair bargain-”

“There is no such thing as fair! Hasn’t anyone told you that life isn’t fair?”

“Yes, but-”

“I will take the grain from them. I will use force if necessary.”

“But that will not win the people’s favour.”

_He’s just like Margaery Tyrell! He wants the people to love the Queen, but I don’t want to be loved by them- I wished to be feared._ “I am not interested in their favour!” I hissed, surprised at the malice that was betrayed in my voice.

“If they do not look to you as their Queen than they will look to another. In my travels, I have often heard rumours about a Dragon Queen-”

“Daenerys Targaryen is not a threat to me.”

“She should be,” he said with a wide-eyed expression. “They say she is young and beautiful. They say she has three fully grown dragons, and a Dothraki and Unsullied army!”

“She has two,” I corrected. “And a hoard of foreign rebels that will only burn down our houses and rape our women. Unless, that is what you want?”

“I want you as my Queen,” he assured me, there was an earnestness in his voice that proved tome that his words were true. “And that is why we _must_ solve this grain crisis! Could you not give the Lords gold for their grain, that way both parties profit from the exchange?”

“I will do both.” He raised his eyebrows at me in surprise. “If they accept, both parties will benefit from this exchange. If they refuse, I will take what is rightfully mine.”

“That sounds fair.”

I rolled my eyes at him, surprised at how ignorant this man could be. He looked at the world and saw all its sweetness, but I saw it for what it truly was. “I shall begin with the Tyrells,” I noted, as I leaned over the table to point at the rose spiral on the the map.

“But there is no one there?”

“Precisely. We took their gold, why not take their food as well? After that, I shall target the Martell’s, the Frey’s, the Tully’s…” I paused and pointed at the Vale. “The Arryn’s. They may think they are well protected, but I know they are no longer hiding in the Vale. Their boroughs may be temporary, but it is enough to launch an attack if necessary. The greatest prize is this one…” I slid my fingers up and circled around the Direwolf sigil. “And when I do attack them I’ll take _everything._ I swear I will not leave one stone untouched until every last Stark is dead.”

 


	26. One Final Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

“Well, this is a nice change,” Petyr remarked with a coy smile. He stepped over the threshold and eyed my chamber room with curiosity. Petyr’s eyes finally landed on my bed and he smirked at the sight of it.

“Petyr,” I warned, and that made him glance in my direction. “I invited you here to talk.”

“Yes, but I was considering what we should do afterwards.”

I rolled my eyes at him, before I motioned him to follow me. Petyr was at my elbow when I picked up my letter from my desk and handed it to him. “It’s from Arya.”

“Oh,” he said in a small voice, while he held the folded letter with delicacy.

“I want you to read it.” He turned away from me and read the letter in grave silence. To fill the awkward silence I went over to the window and pushed open the curtains to let the last of the sunlight in. _By this time tomorrow I shall be Sansa Baelish,_ and that thought alone made me look at my betrothed.

Petyr lowered the letter down to his waist before he finally looked up at me. “Why are you showing me this?”

“I found it in my room. It was placed in a secret hiding spot, Arya and I used to use as children.”

“And why would Arya hide this letter?”

“I don’t know. But it feels like a final goodbye, doesn’t it?”

“In a way, yes.” He looked down at the letter again, and asked, “Does it not say she decided to go to the wall with her brother, Jon, and that is the reason for this letter?”

“Yes, but-” I hesitated, and reached over to take the letter from his hands. “The way she says it… it feels like a final goodbye.”

Petyr puckered his lips, while he let his eyes fall away from my face. Something was churning in his mind, but he wouldn’t say it aloud.

“Do you think she’ll die out there?” I folded the letter in my hand nervously, before I added, “Is that what Arya is trying to say… that if she goes north, she might never come back again.”

“It’s a risk. One she was clearly willing to take.”

“I’ve been so worried about Bran, I haven’t even had time to think about her.”

“Sansa,” he said softly, as he placed his hands in my own. “If what Jon says is true then everyone’s life is in danger… even Arya’s.”

“It’s just…” I hesitated again, realizing how strained my voice sounded. “Isn’t it odd that I find it the night before our wedding? An hour ago, I was sitting her alone and I was thinking about my family, and how none of them are here to see how truly happy I am.” Petyr smiled at that and pulled me in closer to his frame before he allowed me to continue. “And I was sitting here, and I felt some strange urging to look into our secret hiding spot… that strip of floor over there. The one with the discoloured tile, you see. Well, it can easily be removed. I used to hide Robb’s stuff down there just to get on his nerves-”

“You’re a trouble maker.”

“Aren’t I always?” I replied, after I shot him a mischievous look. “Anyways, I felt like I should look inside, for old times sake and then I found this. Its rather odd, isn’t it? Her saying her final goodbye on the night before my wedding. Do you think…”

Petyr sensed how troubled I was, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into his chest. He kissed me on the side of my cheek and whispered, “Sansa, my dear, tell me whatever is the matter?”

“I think it’s a sign,” I said in a controlled voice, there was an air of certainty when I added, “I think she’s dead.”

Petyr stiffened a little, and his eyes averted from me when he asked, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I just _feel_ it.”

“In here,” he asked, and placed his hand over my chest where my beating heart resides.

“Yes,” I hushed, and leaned into his hand, hoping to feel some warmth- some life. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” he whispered. “Not until we receive a letter from Jon.”

“We haven’t heard from him since he left. The winter storms have been too dreadful for our ravens to fly, for both the north and south.”

“Then wait,” he urged, in a raspy voice. “Wait before you assume-”

“I’m not assuming, Petyr,” I snapped. “I just know.”

“Alright,” he said in defeat.

“I wish I was wrong…” Petyr’s hands distracted me, as his hand glided down my back in a soothing manner. _He is so good to me,_ I pondered, as the strength of his hand and the strain of his finger tips attempted to rub all my cares away. “I don’t want to lose anyone else,” I mused aloud. “You’re all I have now, Petyr.”

“And I will never leave you,” he whispered, and kissed me with all the fire he had within him. There was a hot passion in his touch, a possessiveness with his kisses, and I found everything within me was craving more of it. “Let me make you feel better,” he hushed into my ear.

“You always do,” I answered. “And that is why I’m marrying you.”

“Oh, my sweet,” he whispered, as he endowed me with a tender kiss. “I do love you, so.”

“And I you,” I said truthfully. I made sure I caught his eye before I added, “But we have to trust each other, Petyr. No more lies.”

“Lies?” he repeated, in barely a breath.

“We’re not in King’s Landing anymore.” He smiled at that, and bit the corner of his lip with relish. “I need you to be honest with me, and I will be honest with you. You and I are good at deceiving others, and that is what we must do to win the game-”

“Oh, Sansa,” Petyr whispered with an unfathomable fire in his eyes.

“Petyr,” I quickly said, as he leaned forward. “We can’t deceive each other, you understand, don’t you?”

“Of course, my sweet.”

I put my hand against his chest, much to his displeasure. “So, if there is anything you need to tell me. Now, is the time?”

He groaned before he leaned his head back. “I was hoping to tell you later.”

“What is it?” I scolded. “What are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding it… I was just putting it off.”

“Petyr,” I chided, and ignored that devilish smirk that was quickly spreading across his lips.

“Alright, have a seat.” I went over to my wooden chair in front of my desk, but Petyr wouldn’t hear of it. He took my hand and led me over to the edge of my bed, it was there that he had a seat before his hands arrested my waist and forced me to sit on his lap.

“You’re as sly as a fox, you know that?” I asked, as I watched his arms curled around my waist.

“No, I’m a mockingbird,” he remarked, after he held up a rolled-up letter that he took out of the cuff of his sleeve. “And a good one at that. How else would I manage to win Lord Robin’s good graces?”

I grunted at him, despite me leaning into his chest. He was warm and I was intoxicated by his smell, the scent of mint and his natural odour, and then there was the way his chin rested on the top of my shoulder as he leaned his head against mine.

“Alright, read the letter,” he droned. “Then you can tell me how much of a scoundrel I am.”

“What have you done now?” I groaned, as I unraveled the letter. _It’s from Robin,_ I realized, as I took in the Arryn falcon sigil and the scrawled writing of my little cousin. It took me a minute to read the short letter, and I was laughing by the end of it. “He wants to marry _me!_ ” I exclaimed. “Did you put him up to it?”

“Oh no, that was his own doing.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes, my sweet,” he answered, and pecked my cheek with those beautiful lips of his. “Why else would I come to Winterfell so quickly?”

“You wanted to be my advisor.”

“Yes, but I wanted to be something else as well,” he replied. “I didn’t know it at the time, but it seems I never got over you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I admitted, as I dropped the letter on the bed.

“I can say the same thing,” he gravely said. 

“That is true!” I blurted out. “You and this nonsense with Myranda.”

Petyr chuckled low, his chest bumping against my back as his laugh grew louder.

“Its not funny! You know, her servant told my servant that Myranda wished she had your child. She’s still in love with you, you know?”

“Oh,” Petyr said in a small voice.

“Myranda can’t get pregnant of course.”

“Ah,” he said in a pained voice.

“You knew that, didn’t you?”

“No, so much for my plans.”

“Plans!” I shrilled. “I don’t even want to know.”

“No, you don’t,” he jeered. “You really don’t.”

“Petyr, you know with that brilliant mind of yours you can do good, instead of…”

“Instead of?” he entreated, hating that I didn’t finish my sentence.

“Bringing people to ruin.”

“That’s not as fun,” he joked. When I didn’t laugh he nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck and shoulder blade and added, “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Hmmm…” he murmured, and the vibration from his adam’s apple was felt at the back of my shoulder.

“You needn’t worry, Petyr. I love you just the way you are.” I leaned myself into him before I added, “But you must deal with Myranda.”

“I’ll send her away.”

“You can just talk to her.”

“I’ll do both.”

“Petyr,” I warned, as I felt his hands tightening around my waist.

“Anything to please my wife.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” I reminded him.

“Tomorrow you will.”

He was leaning back into the bed, carrying me in with him. We fell down together with ease, and the moment he landed his hands were roaming all over me. “Stay with me tonight,” he entreated.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Rules,” he muttered. “Who needs them? We’ve already broken so many.”

“Exactly.” I rolled over so I could face him. “You’ll make it up on our wedding night, won’t you?”

“Oh yes.” There was that smirk again, the one that told me he was thinking wicked things. “I hope you’ll be more adventurous this time.”

“Adventurous?”

“Hmmm…” He murmured, and then his smirk grew wilder. “I had to be careful with you the first two times, but now I think you’re ready for more excitement.”

I tilted my head at him, confused by that look in his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“Ah, well a brothel keeper does know how to keep things interesting in the bedroom.”

“Yes, I’m sure you had a lot of experience.”

Petyr’s left eyebrow raised with interest. “Jealous?”

“Never.”

“I thought we agreed to never lie to each other anymore?”

I rolled my eyes at him and moved away, but Petyr’s hands were quick to catch me. “Sansa, I’m going to make it a night you’ll never forget.”

“Oh,” I said with vague disinterest.

“I’m going to make you scream my name.”

“How typical of you to say that.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No.”

“I have half a mind to show you right now.”

 _Tempting,_ I thought, and rolled around to face him. I was surprised to see the dark lustfulness in his eyes, so much so that I was left frozen as he went on top of me. His hands glided down my legs, in search of the hem to my dress. I felt his hands arrest my ankles before it started to glide up my bare legs. His eyes were trained on me the whole time, enjoying the sight of my flushed cheeks. He leaned forward and began to kiss me, while his hands caressed around my hips.

 _Oh, god! I can’t stand this,_ I thought, as his legs bent on the bed, so he could straddle me, his entire body on top of me as nipped hard at my neck. I was getting wet, and I felt my resolve was shaking already. _Why must he do this to me?_

I pulled on the ends of his hair, amazed at how soft it was to the touch. His kisses were getting deeper, lasting longer, and I wished this moment would never end. “Sansa, dear, let me pleasure you,” he whispered, once our lips broke apart.

I blinked up at him, and slowly nodded my head. His scooted backwards until he was positioned in front of my feet. Petyr’s hands gently glided up my dress, letting his fingers rub into the grooves of my calves as he made his way upwards. The dress was encircled around my waist when we heard a knock on the door. “Leave it,” I whispered, and nodded my head for him to continue. The knocks persisted, and to our annoyance it was getting louder. Petyr grinded his teeth, as I sat up on the bed. “Maybe they’ll go away.”

The knocks continued until Petyr spat out, “Who the fuck is that?” He went over to the door, but I stopped him and jumped out of the bed, so I could face the unwelcome visitor myself.

“Eva?” I exclaimed, once I opened the door wide enough to see her standing there with her hands full.

“Your wedding dress, my lady. And the jewels you asked for.”

“Oh, come in,” I said with excitement, completely forgetting Petyr was standing right behind me.

“Are you sure?” she asked, taking in the furious expression written on Petyr’s face.

“Yes, yes,” I said hurriedly, and instructed her to lay the dress out on the bed. “Isn’t it beautiful, Petyr?”

He made an inarticulate sound as he looked down at the pillow placed in front of him. “Oh, already,” I teased, and leaned into his frame to kiss him. His hands quickly enraptured me, forgetting Eva was standing right beside me. If he had his way, he would have me on the bed right in front of her. _This has to stop now,_ I surmised, and wriggled out of his grip so I could stand on the other side of the bed.

“Eva, dear,” I said in a strained voice, as I tried to compose myself. “Did you manage to find my mother’s jewels?”

“No, I think-”

“The Boltons,” I cut in, already knowing what she was trying to say in the nicest way possible. “They sold it, didn’t they?”

“Yes, Lady Sansa. I could only find you some earrings, but I'm afraid the rest is gone.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Petyr remarked. His arms were crossed as he stared at me from the other side of the bed, he was annoyed at me, but it wasn't serious enough to put a permanent rift between us.

“Do you have jewels?”

“A man rich as I can come up with something.”

“But the wedding is tomorrow.”

“Then I should start now, shouldn’t I?” he quipped. He went around the bed, much to my dismay, and gave me a teasing kiss with his tongue prodding the inside of my mouth, before he smacked my ass and sauntered out of the room.

“Yes, well,” I said in a shaky voice, as I tried to recollect my thoughts. Eva gave me a sheepish grin, after she watched the looks cast between Petyr and I before he went out the door. “I think- I think…”

“The dress, my Lady.”

“Yes, I think we should try on the dress and see if it fits.”

“It will fit,” she assured me, and with that she came over to help me put on Petyr’s wedding present, a beautiful pearl white wedding dress with the finest fabrics you could find. _One more sleep,_ I thought, as I felt the sheer white fabric, _and then I will be his wife._

 


	27. Holy Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

The air was so still, there was not a sound in the air, except for a few stray birds whistling overhead. I looked up at the steel-grey sky, and wondered if we spent more time looking towards the heavens instead of the ground, how different our lives would be?

A stray bird caught my attention, it whistled a beautiful tune as it perched itself atop of a smooth white branch of the Weirwood tree. I was the only mockingbird here, but soon there would be another.

I found I had been holding my breath, the air caught in my lungs as I heard gentle whisperings behind me. “Isn’t she beautiful?” they said, and I knew my bride was near. I shut my eyes, restraining myself so I wouldn’t turn around to meet her. The murmurings continued, growing louder by the second as I heard her familiar tread on the snow crusted floor. A sweet sensation came over me, sensing her presence; I opened my eyes- seeing the harrowing expression etched into the Weirwood tree. _That isn’t how I feel,_ I thought, _no- I am so much more than that._

There was a gentle hush of the wind, and I felt a few flakes of snow brush upon my face. I watched the snow flakes nestle themselves on the sleeves of my coat and I found myself silently wishing I could freeze this moment forever. Sansa appeared in the corner of my eyes, all decked in white, her auburn hair decorated like a radiant crown; the jewels I had given her radiated off her smooth porcelain skin. Her sea blue eyes caught mine, and I felt I could have drowned in it. She was so very beautiful, this sweet creature, this beauteous form would be mine alone.

“We are gathered here today for holy matrimony. Here we stand at this sacred spot to unite these two individuals: Lord Petyr Baelish and Lady Sansa Stark,” the Priest uttered, as he took his place between us. “Let us remember that this marriage is binding. This holy covenant is illuminated, held together for all time. You must remember to be patient with one another, love one another, through the happy times and periods of sorrow. As we stand before the old gods, we must remember that Winter is Here, and there are dark times ahead of us. You will need him, as much as he will need you. Still, this moment of light in a time of darkness shows us that true love still exists and will prevail in the end. Lord Baelish, you have expressed a wish to say your own vows, now is the time to do so.”

I took both of Sansa’s hands in my own and gave her a small smile. Already, her eyes were glossing over with tears. “Sansa, sweetling, I do love you… more than words can express.” I felt her hand tightening in mine, the moment my voice broke off after the last few words. I swallowed hard before I continued, “Sansa, I want you to know that I promise to be a better man. I will be good to you, love you, take care of you all the days of your life. I will be _faithful_ to you and to your House. I will work with you, serve you…” Her smile grew wider as she realized exactly what I was implying. “Make you my equal in all affairs. I will hide nothing from you. Everything I have will be yours, sweetling, and all that I am is now with you.”

She shed a stray tear and I was quick to wipe it away with the back of my hand. She held my hand and pressed it to her lips, so she could kiss it.

“Lady Sansa, you may say your vows,” the Priest whispered, afraid to break the sacred bond between us.

“Petyr,” she cooed. “I have known you since I was a child. You have always been constant, cared for my well being… in your own way.”

I laughed a that remark, knowing that scolding look all to well. “And I have known you have loved me, perhaps, from the moment you first set eyes on me at the tourney. It took me a while to learn that you are the right man for me. I never knew what love was, until I found it with you.” She paused and licked her bottom lip before she added, “I know we’ve been through a lot, Petyr, but I believe we can make this work. I know it because I see the potential in you to be a good man, and a great Lord of Winterfell. What I’m trying to say is… I believe in you. I believe in _us,_ and I am excited to see what the future holds for us. So…” she paused and gave me a playful grin. “I also promise to serve you. To work alongside you all the days of our lives. To love you for all tomorrows and never part from you until our final breath. And to love you always, Petyr, just as you have always loved me.”

I knew she could feel the depth of my feelings as I gazed into her eyes. The priest cleared his throat and instructed us to exchange our rings; I gave her a glistening green ring, the same colour as the one hanging down her neck. She gave me a smooth silver band with small engravings of spirals along the band. Engraved in the inside was: _Forever yours,_ in cursive writing. I felt my chest heave at the sight of it, and she she took that opportunity to slip in on my ring finger.

“You may now put on her cloak.” Royce handed me the pine green cloak, I unfolded it to reveal my silver mockingbird sigil embroidered in the center, the outside of it was decorated with glittering silver jewels. I adorned Sansa’s shoulders with it, standing unreasonably close to fasten it around her chest.

“Let it be known that Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord of The Fingers, Harrenhal and the Vale is now bound to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. You are now Lord and Lady of this sacred home. May the old gods give you wisdom, guidance and providence to lead our people, and may you serve us as well as the many Starks of old. Lord Baelish, you may now kiss the bride.”

There was a flurry of cheers and loud clapping as I leaned in to kiss her. I made sure to give them a show, as I kissed Sansa fervently, enough for them to shout out in applause. Sansa was blushing by the time I was done with her, and I made sure to peck her cheek in approval. We turned to face the crowd and made sure we shook everyone hands as we walked past them, taking the time to thank them for coming and receiving their ardent blessings in return. Sansa’s arm was linked in mine as we talked to the Northerns one by one; they may not like the idea of me being the Lord of Winterfell, but I knew in time they would learn to accept me. A large crowd followed us out of the forest, Sansa’s arm remained in mine, she leaned against me gleefully, making sure we were never separated- not even for a moment.

The walk felt short and by the time we reached the gates of Winterfell we already saw the fires glowing through the window panes. Soon we would be inside, comforted in the warmth and surrounded by friends. This orphan who had lost so much, was now entirely mine. _We will start our own family,_ I mused, _and they will be heirs to Winterfell._ I leaned in to kiss her after that thought, and she shot me a surprised look followed by a suspicious gaze. _I will tell her another time,_ I deliberated, _for now I will enjoy this moment._

Once Sansa and I were inside, we were placed at the head of the dining table, a roaring fire was felt at our backs. Sansa removed her cloak and revealed her exquisite dress, all eyes were trained to her, marveling at her dress and her sheer beauty. I was quick to place my hand on top of hers, so that all could see she belonged to me. Sansa, keen to sense my jealous nature, pecked me on the cheeks lightly and when I turned to her with a sullen look she kissed me on the lips to prove her resolve.

Once our wine was poured, we were entertained with music. I sought out a bard to suit Sansa’s tastes, and by the little smile on her face I knew she was enjoying it. We engaged in light hearted chatter with the guests, even Royce was willing to share a word or two with me. Myranda was on his left, looking as solemn as ever, and I felt a twinge of regret as she cast her dark eyes at me. _I’m going soft,_ I realized, and glanced over the table to see if Parcelle was there, but he wasn’t it. _A man like him wouldn’t be allowed here,_ I surmised. Still, it would have been nice to have him here, after all, if it wasn’t for his meddling I wouldn’t be sitting next to my glowing wife, or feeling her shoulder rub against mine tenderly. My attention was directed when she asked me if I was alright, I took the time to assure her I was fine.

“No, I’m more than fine,” I deliberated. “I’m perfect.”

Sansa kissed me at the side of my temple after that, and smoothed down my silver streaks with pleasure. “I’m happy,” she assured me, before she turned her attention back to our guests.

We ate our dinner in companionable silence, it was enough to feel her body next to mine. Every now and then she would stroke her hands through my hair or leave a kiss on some part of my body. She was always smiling, practically glowing in the red lighting from the fire, and I found myself staring at her more often than not.

I asked her to dance and she willingly agreed. Everyone stopped and stared as we went to the other side of the room, and I could sense Sansa’ timidness under my arm. “Just pretend its you and me,” I whispered, before I kissed her brow. “Keep your eyes on me, sweetling.”

“Okay,” she hushed, and let me wrap my arms around her waist so I could lead her through the dance. The song was slow, so we had the time to look at each other. My heart felt full, and I wondered how a man like me could possibly feel this way. _Who am I to deserve a second chance? Who am I to deserve her love?_

The world seemed to dimmer, it felt like it was just her and I in the room. It felt like an out of body experience, everything was sublime, from the dimmed lights in the room, to the way Sansa’s white dress glowed in the darkness. _Could this be real,_ I thought, as she paused the dance just to kiss me.

“I never want this moment to stop,” she whispered.

“Neither do I.”

“Everything feels too good to be true.”

“I know. I guess we’re used to be tied to loveless marriages.”

“But this time I married for love.”

“So did I,” I assured her, as I tightened my rein around her waist.

“I’m happy you came back to me,” she confessed. “I’m happy you’re alive.”

I offered her a small smile, knowing exactly where her thoughts were turning too. “I should have never killed you,” she whispered. “I was such a stupid girl…”

“But I wouldn’t be here, standing next to you if you didn’t. Sometimes bad things have to happen before the good.”

“And you’re the good?”

“I should hope so,” I teased.

She rubbed her hands down my chest, contemplating something in her mind. “Thank you for forgiving me,” she hushed. “I love you for that. I love you for so many things.”

“I know,” I assured her, and followed that with a breathless kiss.

“I think its time for the bedding ceremony!” someone jeered from the table.

“No,” she said in a frightened voice, her hand clasped at mine anxiously.

“There will be no bedding ceremony,” I bellowed. “My wife’s body is mine alone to see.”

There was some booing, but it quickly silenced once I motioned the guards to step forward. “Please escort my wife and I out of the room,” I instructed. They stood on both sides of us and followed us out of the room, Sansa was kind enough to wave goodbye at everyone, but my thoughts were too consumed with our wedding night to pay attention to the world around me.

“Petyr,” a heavily accented voice cried out from the darkness of Winterfell’s halls near our quarters, it was Parcelle that stepped forward out of a little nook in the wall. He looked at my guards anxiously, before he took another step forward.

“Parcelle, it is a pleasure to see you again, as always.”

“So, you actually did it! You actually got the girl to marry you.”

“I told you I always get what I want.”

“Hmph. Yes, you are a _very_ lucky man.”

“Sansa, this is Parcelle. The man I told you about.”

“It was you who brought him back to life!”

“I did, and I regret it everyday of my life.”

“As you can see, Parcelle, has a strange sense of humour,” I remarked.

“Yes, but you won’t be laughing at this- I’m going.”

“Going where?”

“North. I need to find the one they call _Azor Ahai._ The great war is almost upon us, and he is in grave danger.”

“And you think you can help him.”

“I have no other choice! The Lord of Light commanded it.”

“Then I shall miss you, old friend.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will.” He paused to look at my wife and I. “There is still time to fulfill your destiny. You are our saviour, Petyr. You must unite the people under one banner. Build solidarity in Westeros, lest it crumbles further.”

“You still have the wrong man.”

“The Lord of Light is never wrong. I have seen great things in your future. We will need you in the days to come.” He stretched out his hand for I to shake. “Goodbye, Petyr.”

“Goodbye, Parcelle.”

“And Petyr,” he added, after he took a few steps away from us. “Enjoy the climb.”

“He knows you well,” Sansa gibbed, as we both watched Parcelle make his way down the long halls of Winterfell.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” I told her truthfully. “If he lives… I think I might make him our child’s godfather.”

“Our child! Petyr, I’m not pregnant.”

“Yet,” I drawled. “But once I’m done with you, you soon will be.”

She huffed at that and made her way down the hall without me. I dismissed the guards and quickly followed after her. “Or would you rather Royce instead?”

“Petyr,” she warned.

“Or your dear cousin, Robin?”

She shot me a look full of loathing. “You know that’s not funny.”

“It is,” I retorted, and took that small window of opportunity to resume my place at her side. “Very well, if Varys should live than I suppose…”

“Petyr, I’m not having kids!”

“Ever?”

“I don’t think its possible. I should have been carrying Ramsay’s child by now.”

“That’s because he didn’t do it right.”

“Oh, really?” she asked in a thin voice.

“Believe me when I say I’ll have you pregnant in a month.”

“Why?” she shot out. “Why do you want kids?”

“Because without it the Stark legacy _dies._ Who will rule Winterfell once we’re gone?”

“There’s still a chance for Jon-”

“You want Jon’s children’s to be heirs!” I blurted out.

“No, I guess…” she paused. “I guess I wasn’t thinking…”

I grimaced at her, desperately trying to hold my tongue. I placed my arm around her waist before I uttered, “I want _our_ children to rule Winterfell. I want _us_ to have a family of our own.”

“Okay,” she meekly said, though she averted her gaze.

“Not now, Sansa, but soon, or else this will all be for nothing.” _And then a Targaryen will have control over Winterfell,_ I grievously thought as my thoughts turned to Jon Snow.

“No, you’re right. It just came as a shock that’s all. I never pictured you as a father.” She saw my pained expression and quickly added, “But I’m sure you’ll be a great one.”

“Well, I know for certain that you’ll be a great mother. I can only hope our child will have your hair.”

“And your eyes,” she added, and leaned forward to kiss my closed lids. “Now, I’m excited.”

“Then let’s get started,” I laughed, and lifted her off the floor so I could carry her away to our chambers.

 


	28. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

Petyr had an undeniable swagger as he carried me over the threshold, before he dropped me into the bed.

“Ready, sweetling?” he asked in a cunning voice. He gave me a sly look from the corner of his eyes before he started to undress himself in front of me.

“Take yours off too,” he said in a low tenor, the raspiness of his voice revealed to me how eager he was to see me. “I can’t be the only one.”

“I need help,” I said in a soft voice, somewhat alarmed by the devious look in his eyes.

“Gladly,” he said from the corner of his mouth. He tossed his tunic aside and went behind me to undo the ties. There was an awful silence as he meticulously worked at the ties, and I wondered what was going on in his mind. He felt like an entirely different man, as his hands rubbed across my freshly exposed skin; the coldness of his rings made me shiver slightly as it glided down my spine. I remember him boasting that he was taking it easy with me for our first two times, and now I was wondering if what he said was true.

Petyr pulled down my dress carefully, making sure not to ruin my priceless dress. As each piece of skin was exposed he pressed his open mouth to my flesh, dragging it down my skin until the seams of the dress halted him. He paused and pulled my dress down further till it hugged my hips. He stroked my hair away from my back, so he could kiss around the back of my nape, circling around it till he reached the sharp grooves of my shoulder blade. Petyr pressed himself on me when he nipped at the side of my neck, his nails dug into my shoulder as he continued his venture. We were gravitating towards the bed, and once I was close enough he leaned me forward till I was half-bent upon it. Petyr pulled down the rest of my dress in one fluid motion before he glided his hands upwards till he could cup my ass. He smacked it playfully before he dug his nails into my small clothes to drag it down completely.

“Wet already?” he remarked in a raspy voice. “Good.”

I felt my entire body throbbing from anticipation, the heat below was too much to bear. “Petyr,” I breathed, and was glad when I finally felt him entering into me. I let out a cry from the pain, the awkward positioning forced me to grab the bed sheets and tear at it as he pushed himself deeper. His rough hands grinded its way down my back, leaving a sharp pain down the sides of my back. He thrust into me again, and I let out another cry. Petyr was like an animal, fucking me hard till tears started to stream down my eyes. He must have heard my whimpers, for his hands started to smooth down the red nail marks down my back. “I’m sorry, sweetling,” he said in a strained voice, “But I just couldn’t help myself. I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” He let out a nervous shudder as he eased his way out, and the moment he was gone I clawed my way to the center of the bed and laid there in complete agony I heard Petyr crawl upon the bed, and soon he laid himself beside me, anxiously watching me as I continued to bury my head in the pillow in shame. Petyr gently rolled me over to face him before he asked, “Sansa, did _he_ do that to you?”

 I nodded my head in reply, while I wiped away the tears that continued to stream down my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as his fingers stroked away my tears. “I didn’t know.”

I looked away from him, and quickly wiped away my tears with the blanket. “It is a brutal way, but most effective in letting off some steam. I won’t do that to you again. I promise.”

“Okay,” I said lightly. I rubbed myself around my core, hoping to diminish the pain he had left me. Petyr watched me in quiet fascination, delighted to see me touch myself. He leaned in to kiss me before he crawled down to get a closer look.

“I hope I didn’t put you off,” he whispered, once he finally looked up at me.

“No,” I said in a weak voice. “I just try to forget and sometimes it all comes back to me.”

“I know what you mean,” he answered, after he unconsciously stroked the scar across his neck.

“Let’s try to forget together,” I said with a mischievous smile. In return, Petyr shot me a sly little grin before he made his way upwards. His hands trailed up the sides of my waist as he settled himself on top of me.

I was so wet, it felt like the ocean. Just feeling him on top of me made my body ready to do it again. The corner of Petyr’s lips curled into a smile as he looked down at me. “I can feel you dripping, sweetling.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He answered me with a kiss, licking the insides of my mouth wantonly. He kissed me at an unreasonably slow pace, taking me down into the center of the bed before I felt his hardened cock pressed against me. “Fuck,” escaped my lips as he played with my bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth as he looked up at me.

“My thoughts exactly,” he said under his breath. He stroked his sweaty bangs away from his face before he leaned forward to kiss me again.

“You are so beautiful,” I said suddenly, not sure exactly where that came from.

Petyr tongue flicked across his mouth and pierced the inside of his left cheek. His eyes were still, arresting me with his steady gaze. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes.”

He puckered his lips slightly, forcing unknown lines to crease around his mouth. I lay a hand there, caressing his firm cheek, and stared into the blazing fire within his darkened orbs.

“I get the feeling that no matter how many times I fuck you, I’ll never have my fill.”

“Let’s try it out, shall we?”

That wicked smile returned as he hugged my hips. He eased himself into me while we continued to lock eyes. He made sure to take in every expression that crossed my face as I felt myself expanding to let him in. His chest was hot to the touch as I laid a hand there, trailing the scar for a moment before I felt a multitude of deep thrusts that set me on a high. He kept going, keeping up the rigorous pace until I felt I was coming close, and when it finally hit me I made a sound that was hardly a sound at all, it was more like an animalistic growl that made my nails dig into Petyr’s skin vengefully. I bit into the side of his neck when he made me peak and when I couldn’t take any more of it I screamed out his name in a vain effort to make him stop. “It will get easier in time,” he assured me, once he finally had his fill, he was slowing down from exhaustion, our laboured breaths were almost in sync when he finally dropped his head atop of my shoulders. He was so deep inside me, but I knew what it was for- a child, it could be seen in the way his large hand stroked across my stomach and the way his nails dug into the side of my hips.

I breathlessly said, “That was…”

“I know,” he coughed, as he also tried to catch his breath. “Seven Hells, that felt good!”

“Yeah.” I laid on the bed, still unable to move but thankfully Petyr’s warm body was all that I need right now. He lazily kissed me on the side of my cheek, still enraptured by me after all that we had done.

“I tired you out,” he noted. “And the night is still young.”

“Next time you have to take your time,” I rebutted.

“No, I can never do that,” he replied. “Especially on a night like this.”

He shifted himself slightly, but I could still feel him inside of me. My hardened nipples poked his chest, the sheets were drenched with our sweat and his cum. _Petyr was right, the night was still young, but I was exhausted, and sleep was coming to me all to easily._

“I hope it’s a girl,” Petyr said suddenly. He leaned his head off my shoulder to look me dead in the eye. “But if it’s a boy, I’m fine with that as well. He’ll carry on my name.”

“Baelish.”

He smiled at that, before he pecked my kiss-swollen lips lightly. “What do you want, Sansa?”

“A girl.”

“And what will you name her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Isn’t that what every girl does, contemplate what their wedding will be like and come up with a potential name for their child.”

“I did once, but that was a _very_ long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, knowing where my thoughts were turning too. “You know I offered to marry you when we were in King’s Landing, before you were ordered to marry the Imp. The Queen refused my offer, of course.” The corner of his lip tugged downwards with envy, but I was quick to stroke a finger across it till formed into a smile.

“I happy it turned all right in the end. You finally got what you wanted…

“A beautiful wife.”

“And a child,” I added. “I will give you a child.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” he said softly, as he cupped my cheek lovingly. “That is the best gift you can ever give.”

“I love you, Petyr,” I replied, before I nuzzled my face into the pillow. The lids of my eyes were shutting on its own, I could feel my body ready to sleep as each second passed between us.

Petyr kissed me the minute my eyes shut, and I felt him wriggling himself out of me much to my displeasure. “Sleep,” he urged, after he pulled the sheets over us. I felt his hand rest atop of my stomach, lightly stroking it in a soothing manner before I finally dozed off to sleep.


	29. Before Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

It was scarcely dawn when I woke up, I blinked open my eyes to see Sansa lying there beside me. Her red hair tumbled down the pillow, her pale back reflecting the soft morning light. I pressed my face against it, kissing it with leisure as she lay there sound asleep. She didn't stir, nevermind, it was better that way. She needed her rest after last night's events, I didn't have the time to be adventurous with her but that could wait. After all, we had a life time ahead of us. I was stroking the ends of my beard when I got of bed, contemplating whether I should shave today.  _ I need a bath, _ I thought, and strode over to my chair to fetch my robe. 

It was still to early to call the servants so I started the fire on my own; my inexperienced hands made the process take twice as long, but I managed and soon there was a roaring flame in the grate. I placed a pot next to it full of water and attended to the bath, before I came back to see if the water had finally boiled. Fortunately, for me it had, so I brought it over to the bathroom and filled the tub with water. I dropped in a few lemon peels and watched it sink to the bottom without a care in the world. I was happy, I realized, for the first time in my life I was absolutely content where I was. I got up from the floor and decided to check on Sansa again, she was to quiet for my liking.

“Sansa, love,” I whispered, and rocked her gently. She made a murmuring sound which made me laugh, and I decided to leave her where she was. I slipped off my robe and draped at the edge of my bed before I sauntered off to the bathroom. The water was hot by the time I reclined myself down into the bottom of the tub. I let out a sigh of relief, feeling the heat seep into my skin.  _ I needed this, _ I mused, _ it will help me think. _ Something I greatly needed, now that I have successfully secured the North. “Lord of Winterfell,” I whispered under my breath.  _ If Ned Stark had a head, he’d be rolling in his grave. _ That made me chuckle, and I looked over my shoulder to make sure I hadn't awaken my wife.

I picked up the wet cloth and began to lathe my body in a fluid motion. There it was again, that creeping feeling of guilt whenever I thought about Arya Stark. When I paid the faceless woman I was filled with hate, but now that I am married to Sansa Stark it only fills me with bitter remorse. _I_ _can never tell her,_ I mused, _or I'll lose everything._ She knew what kind of man she was marrying, it was no secret what I have done in the past. She ignored the outcries, when she declared she was going to wed the Lord of the Vale. Still, if she knew what I had done to her- that I was the one who robbed her of her sister would she look at me the same way? I dropped the cloth in the water and stroked my hair away from my face. _Seven Hells, what have I done?_

I heard Sansa’s feet padding against the hardwood floor. She entered the bathroom and leaned against door as she asked, “Mind if I join you?”

“Good morning, sweetling,” I answered, and shifted my feet to the side of the tub so she would have more room. Sansa hung up her robe and strode towards me in all her nakedness with a confident air.

“You slept well,” I noted, as she dipped herself into the steaming water.

“No thanks to you.”

I smiled at her before I picked up a brush and dipped into the water so I could bath her. She made a soft humming sound as I scrubbed the brush down the sides of her arms. “We should do this all the time.”

“I agree,” I replied, as I worked the other side of her arm. Sansa took the time to wet her hair as well, as I scrubbed the rest of her body with the bristle brush and a wet cloth. The scent of lemon was intoxicating, and it only grew worse when she added a few lime peels. I stood up and went outside of the tub to work her back, feeling some remorse when I saw the claw marks down her back. She said nothing when I rubbed the cloth over the raised marks, to thank her I knelt down to kiss them fervently. “Are you alright, love?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she purred. She turned around to shoot me a lazy smile, and I could see the tiredness in her eyes. _ I really wore her out. _ I put the cloth and brush away, and returned with a small bottle that Sansa would use to wash her hair.

“Shall I wash your hair, as well?”

“You're spoiling me.”

_ No, I’m trying to make it up to you.  _ I poured the pinkish contents into my hand and immediately smelt a fruity attar, a hint of strawberry was left in the wake as I rubbed it in her slick wet hair.

“You’ve done this before,” she observed.

_ With Cat, _ I thought, but I thought it best to keep that secret. “Another trick of the trade when your a brothel keeper.”

“You must teach me one of your  _ tricks _ one day.”

“Oh,” I mouthed, and found I had stopped rubbing her hair.  _ The sun is not even up yet, and we're getting started already. _ “Maybe, when you're not so tired I can teach you.”

She reached behind her head and laid her hands atop of mine. “I’m sure I’ll have lots of energy tonight.”

“Lots?” I found myself saying in a high-pitch voice. I could feel myself getting aroused already. The way she slid her hands down her slick auburn hair only added to it.

“You can wash it out now, Pete.”

The corner of my lips curled at the sudden nickname.  _ It's a pity she can’t see it, _ I mused, before I poured fresh water down her long tresses.

“It's my turn,” she noted, after she was out of the bathtub. She held my expensive oils from Dorne in the palm of her hand. “I want to rub you down.”

“Can't keep your hands off me,” I quipped.

“No.” She unscrewed the bottle and poured in her hand before she took a step forward to face me. She rubbed it across the center of my chest, swirling it around my marred flesh without a second thought. I watched her all the while, slowly taking in this beautiful creature that was now my wife. Her hands wrapped around my waist, stroking it deftly till I couldn't take anymore of it. I placed my arms around her, but she shook her head in disapproval. “I’m not done yet.”

“I don't care,” I growled, as I pulled her towards me.

“Petyr, let me finish,” she entreated, and laid her oily hands in the center of my chest.

“Fine,” I barked, before she motioned me to turn around. I felt her rubbing the oils down my back, snaking around my lean frame as her hands traveled lower and lower. She brushed her hands across my ass, and ignored the wheezing sound I made as she gripped it harder. “San-”

“Shhh! I won't hear any of it.”

“Your hands are all over my ass, what do you expect?” I shot back. She answered me by letting her hands slide down lower, feeling the lean grooves of my outer thighs and calves. I could see her in the looking glass ahead of me, watching her tantalizing expression as she worked the back of my calves and ankles.

“Face me,” she said sweetly, while she was still on her hands and knees.

“When is it my turn?” I asked anxiously, as I wrung my hands together with anticipation. I couldn't wait to get my hands on her.

“Not yet,” my wife answered me. She rubbed my hips and soon her hands went lower, I bit my tongue as she focused her attention on my sharp pelvic muscle.  _ Almost there, _ I thought, as she hesitated for a moment once she saw how hard I had become. “Even before dawn you're ready,” she commented with disbelief, after she continued to venture downwards. She passed the area I wanted her to rub the most, and instead focused her attention on my outer thighs.

“Sansa, dearest, don't you want me to teach you another trick of the trade?”

“It’s too early for that.”

“Oh no, it's never too early for a lesson.”

“It is,” she retorted. She got up from the ground and handed the bottle to me. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Oh?” I drawled, and unscrewed the bottle at a painfully slow pace. “How about you lie on the bed and I'll do it?”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can do it right here.”

“I could,” I replied with a dangerous glimmer in my eyes. “But where is the fun in that?”

“It's not supposed to be fun,” she said cooly.

“There is another lesson I must teach you.”

She grunted at me, before she left the bathroom. I followed her, curious where she was going and to my surprise she plopped down on the bed. “I’m tired,” she groaned, and stretched herself across the bed chest first.

“Then let me rub you down, and then you can go to sleep.” She flipped her damp hair away from her back and silently entreated me forward.

“Just a rub down,” she warned.

“Of course.”

“No sex.”

“Yes. My wife is too tired for that,” I said in a sarcastic voice.

“I mean it,” she relayed, after she rested her chin on the back of her hand. She bent her legs upwards and entangled them together as I leisurely rubbed the oil into toned back. She made that humming noise again, pleased by the strength of my fingers as I pressed into her skin. “It's so warm,” she remarked, after she tilted her head slightly so she can see me.

“I started a fire for you.”

“You’re too good,” she muttered. I glided my fingers upwards over the curved blade of her shoulders before I let them slide down her arms. She let out a sigh once I rubbed the side of her neck, and let out a gasp when I kissed her raw skin. “Petyr!”

“ I have done nothing, love.”

“I know what you  _ want. _ ”

“No, it is too early for that.”

“Exactly,” she quipped, and let her dangling legs drop to the bed.

“Besides… I wore you out.” I paused for dramatic effect before I added, “You would never know I’m twice your age.”

She made a scolding noise before she turned over to face me. “You really know how to get under my skin, don't you?”

“I am just pointing out the facts,” I said darkly, noticing how hard her nipples had become. I reached out to touch them, and she made a growling sound but soon submitted. She let me lean her against the bed and watched as I slowly crawled on top of her. “I know you want it, as much as I do.”

“I’m tired,” she wailed.

“And wet.”

She groaned at that through gritted teeth. I felt her nails dig into my shoulders, desperately wanting to push me away, and yet, she made no effort to do so.

“It is the morning after our wedding, Sansa, we should not quarrel.”

“I’m not,” she childishly said. “I'm tired.”

“Then you stay exactly as you are, and let me do the work.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked in a strained voice once she felt me moving away from her.

“Ah, so you are interested?”

“No.”

“Sansa Baelish, you are a terrible liar.” I was in between her legs now, looking up at her as i rested my chin on the palm of my hand. She was torn, it was clearly evident in those sleepy eyes that she wanted it, but she wanted her precious sleep more.

“You know I can lie as well as you.”

“But of course, you are a  _ mockingbird _ after all.”

She made a whimpering sound once I began to lap at her, taking my sweet time as the juices continued to flow. She tasted sweet, just as I suspected. It made me hungry for more, so I used my littlefinger to open her wider. She was making a shrieking sound, it was undoubtedly her first time, but soon she would got used to my tongue jutting inside of her. I made a growling sound as I pressed my lips against her core, sucking her dry till there was nothing left. “You taste delicious,” I said in a leveled voice, as I stared into her. “If only there was more.”

I heard her moan before her legs shut, nearly taking my face with it. I laughed at that as I crawled on top of her, and kissed her so she would at least know the taste, the way she tasted on my lips was now transferred onto hers. “You can go to sleep now,” I assured her. She lazily wrapped her arms around my frame and drifted off to sleep with her head against my chest.

I spent the rest of the morning thinking, planning out our future as she laid there sleeping in my arms. It was another hour when Eva snuck in the room to attend to the fire and breakfast, and another after that when my wife finally woke up and was delighted to see all the food spread out across the table. She ate beyond the point of satiety, absolutely famished from all of the exertion from the night before. When she was finally done she went over to me and watched me at my writing desk with silent amusement.

“What are you doing?” she asked, after she sat upon my lap.

“I am writing a letter to your cousin.”

“Why?”

“To inform him of our marriage. These winter storms our bad, but once the snow lets up then I can fly a raven to the Vale.”

“Yesterday was good,” she observed, as she leaned over to read the letter I had written.

“We were lucky.”

“Aren't we always,” she teased, before she kissed me on the lips.

“Robin will have quite a fit. This will ruin my plans, I was supposed to strengthen our alliance- not ruin it.”

“He’ll understand.”

“No… he won’t.”

“You’re not worried?”

“That is the least of my concern. For now, we must focus on protecting Winterfell, and planning for our child.”

She kissed me for that, and nuzzled herself against me so I could finish the letter. Unfortunately, hardly a minute had passed before I was disturbed by a knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” she cooed, before she slid off my lap.

“Lady Sansa, I need to speak to you,” one of the guardmen said. She let him into our chambers, and I made sure I was by her side before he made the announcement. “In the middle of the night two strangers tried to enter into our walls. We arrested them. They both wish to speak to you. One of them goes by the name of Tyrion Lannister and the other Lord Varys.”

“If he’s a dwarf then you can be sure he’s Tyrion.”

“He is, my Lord.”

“Then release them.”

“Take them to the guests chambers,” my wife added. “Ensure they are properly cared for. They might have some news about my brother.”

“And the battle going on in the North,” I suggested.

“Exactly. You heard the orders, carry them out.”

“I do love when you take command,” I drawled, as my hands started to drag down her robe the moment the guard was gone.

“You love everything about me.”

“I do. So, let me show you,” I replied, before I threw her robe off her shoulders and carried her back to bed.


	30. Battle of the Wits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Tyrion**

“It is the morning after my wedding night and what do the gods give me? And Imp and a cockless man.”

“Well, I’m not exactly pleased to see you either. Who would have thought you’d be the Lord of Winterfell?”

“Varys did once,” Lord Baelish replied as he turned his heavy gaze to my traveling companion. “But that was a very long time ago.”

“Yes, and I still believe Lady Sansa would have been happier with the Tyrells.”

“And who are you to decide my fate?” Lady Sansa asked. She looked at her husband on her right and added, “I am quite happy with my choice.”

"Naturally."

 "I believe I have you to thank," Lord Baelish noted, as he leaned back on his silver throne. "If it hadn't been for you, Sansa and I wouldn't have had he opportunity to marry. It is a pity yours was a pre-mature one."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you had something to do with it."

"My loyalty was to the Crown. I had no qualms against King Joffrey."

"Yes, you were getting along swimmingly," Varys quipped.

"I make it a point to have powerful friends. Something you have noted to do also. But... you are not as half as successful as I."

"You were always one to gloat."

"And why should I not? I am everything you _fear._ "

"I do not fear you."

"No?" Littlefinger's lips began to curl into a menancing grin. "A man who fears nothing is a fool."

"Oh, and what does that make you?"

"The Lord of Winterfell! The Vale, Harrenhal and The Fingers. That is what _makes_ me! What do you have, old friend?"

"Loyalty."

"To whom?"

"To Queen Daenerys."

"Then you should go back to her. I'm sure she'll find a cockless man more useful than I."

"I have served her to the best of my ability. The same can't be said of you."

"In case you haven't noticed, Varys, there are _two_ Queens in Westeros. In all this chaos, I think it best not to take sides openly."

"We support Daenerys," Sansa cut in. "Enough of this banter! You'd think this is the battle of wits."

"I did it for old times sake," he assured her. "It has been too long since I've had the time to speak to my old friend, and much has changed since then."

"Yes, we know," she retorted, after she rolled her eyes at her husband. "Let's get down to business, shall we? Why are you here?"

"I've come to serve you."

"What the matter, Tyrion, you can't make up your mind?" Lord Baelish taunted.

"I'd say the same thing about you, since you've gone after every red-headed Tully in the Seven Kingdoms."

 "Says the one who can't keep a wife."

"I'd say the same thing about you."

"Now, that's enough!" Sansa cried.

"As you can see, you are distressing my _wife_ ," Lord Baelish smoothly said as he laid his hand atop of hers.

 "Petyr, you too," she warned. Her gaze averted back to me. "Why do you wish to serve us?"

"Because I feel I would be more useful _here_ than on the battlefield."

"Did my brother agree?"

"Yes, and Queen Daenerys as well."

"And how will you serve us?"

"I will be your advisor. I will prepare the North for the coming of our Queen. By the time the war is done, Westeros will be ready for her. And I will help you, Lady Sansa, by predicting my sister’s every move, so that you may _win_ this war.”

“You would betray your own sister?”

“My loyalty to her is gone, it happened the night she called for my head.”

“And want do you _offer,_  Varys?” Lord Baelish asked, his Fingerish brogue was heavy as he uttered it.

“The will not strangle you where you stand.”

“I’m sitting,” he quipped. “Any other offer?”

Lord Varys pouted irritably, before he added, “I will serve you as though you were the _King_ of Westeros.”

“And I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.”

“It is a pity that is not the chair that you wanted.”

“Early days, my friend.”

“By the time that day comes you’ll be too old to stand.”

“That is why you _sit_ on it,” he jeered. Lord Baelish turned to his wife and asked, “Can you believe I had to deal with this man for so many years?”

“The way you are going at each other is almost making me jealous,” she answered.

“I am flattered,” Lord Varys said with a bow. “It’s nice to know Lord Baelish has some failings.”

“I have faults enough,” said the Lord of Winterfell. “But a working cock isn't one of them.”

“Petyr,” Sansa drowned, as she shook her head.

“It seems your wife disapproves.”

Sansa let out a groan before she rose from her seat. She pushed her silver throne aside before she went around the long table. “Tyrion, I need to speak to you.”

“What for?” I asked uneasily, as I watched her approach me.

“We left on bad terms, and I wish to speak to you.”

“It all worked out in the end,” I relayed. “You’re happily married to the Whoremonger-”

“And an able one at that,” Petyr jeered from his throne. “I always make it a point to make good investments, and a brothel proved to be the most profitable one.”

“Until the Sparrows came,” Varys pointed out.

“I’d say I’m the lucky one. By the time I left King’s Landing they took control. The Tyrell’s can't say the same thing though.”

“They can't say anything- their dead,” I shot in.

“Please, can we not talk about it so nonchalantly,” Sansa entreated. “They were my _friends_.”

“They wanted the North,” Varys said bluntly. “And I thought they had a much better offer than the one who stands before us now.”

“You never could get over it,” Lord Baelish said,as he rose from his chair. “You enjoyed my plans being thwarted, but you forget that I had some _enjoyment_ as well.”

“Yes, but at what cost?”

“The cost is nothing, as long as I get my reward.”

“Do you still want the Irone Throne?” Varys asked, as he approached the gleeful little Lord. “Do you still want that ugly chair?”

“It doesn't matter what I want. What do you _want,_  Varys?”

“This chaos to end! I want to see the rightful ruler on the Iron Throne."

“And why does a foreigner like you want that?”

“Because I am a foreigner you hold that against me, just as I hold it against you that you are from low birth. We cannot change who we are-”

“We must accept it,” I interjected. “Just as we must accept that we must work together, and remember who the true enemy is.”

“Cersei,” Lady Sansa cut in. She walked past me to join her husband. “She is our true enemy.”

“Your brother seems to think it is the Night King.” I added, as I joined their circle. Lady Sansa joined her hands with her husband, he in turn lifted it up to his face and kissed the back of it. _Maybe they are in love, after all?_

“We are surrounded by enemies,” exclaimed Varys. “It feels like I never went away.”

“It’s King Landing all over again,” Lord Baelish drawled. “But this time _I_ hold the power.”

“ _We_ do,” his wife reminded him.

“Of course, my love,” he replied, a strange glimmer could be seen in his eyes as he looked at his wife.

“Tyrion, you will be apart of our council. Varys, if you like you may join our council as well.”

“I am honoured.”

“I’ll remember to bring that up later,” Lord Baelish teased.

“If that is all I should like to return to my chambers,” Varys said in a tired voice. “It has been a long journey and I should like some rest.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you in the morning,” Lady Sansa said in a hush little voice, her sweet smile showed the earnestness of her words. _There is still kindness in her,_ I thought, _but she is made of sterner stuff now._

“I’ll join you,” Lord Baelish suddenly said. He let go of his wife’s hand to take his place beside Varys. “I should like to speak to you on a _private_ matter.”

“What matter?” Lady Sansa asked with a suspicious gaze.

“Nothing to worry you about, my sweet. I promise you that.” He tilted his head slightly as he eyed the bald-headed man. “Alright, Varys. You may follow me.”

“Need I ask your permission?” Varys gibbed. “Next thing you want is for me to call you 'your Grace.’”

“In time, Varys, in time,” Lord Baelish replied, as he strode towards the open doorway.

“Lady Sansa I must tell you something,” I whispered, once they were out of the throne room for good. “Your brother, Bran, wanted me to pass on a message. You will not like it.”

“What is it?”

I let out a sigh before I leaned in to whisper the truth.


	31. Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Bran**

“Bran!” Lady Brienne called out, before I lapsed into another one of my visions. “Bran,” I heard, but it was too late I felt myself going cold again.

“Burn them all!” the mad King cried, as he sat upon the Iron Throne. Darkness closed in as I heard the flapping of birds, a three-eyed raven flapped into view. The raven looked at me for a second before I heard a woman’s voice coming from the darkness. I turned away from the raven and looked into the shadows. “Promise me, Ned,” pleaded Lyanna Stark, and I saw her place the wailing baby into her brother’s arms. A shrilling sound from a white walker shattered the vision, before a new one came into view: I saw Jon Snow running in line with his men, his sword raised in the air as he gave out a battle cry. “Hold the line!” he ordered, as his men formed a straight line on either side of him.

“There’s too many of them,” Ser Davos said in a frightened voice, before I heard a high-pitch squeal blaring out of the sky. A blaze of electric blue fire shot in the air, and everyone on the ground saw it with terror before they ran for cover.

“Bran,” Brienne entreated, as she shook my frozen form. “We need to get out of this ice storm.”

“I need to _see,_ ” I tiredly said. I hugged the tree stump of the Weirwood tree as I felt her snow-crusted hands shake me again.

“I made an oath to your sister-”

“But not to me,” I reminded her. My head began to droop down to my chest once my vision began to dimmer, and all I saw was whiteness by the time I fell atop of the tree stump and fell into another vision.

“You’re brother wanted me to warn you,” Tyrion muttered, once Lady Sansa leaned forward so he could whisper into her ear. “He wanted to tell me you’ll be _betrayed._ ”

“By who?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, before the room flickered away from my view and I felt a sudden coldness come over me again.

The room I now stood in was dark, and I saw small blazes of fire lit against the sides of the wall. There was a man in the center, dressed in a long grey robe with a hood over his head. He was looking down at my sister, Arya, taking in her wide-eyed expression as she looked up at the tall faceless man. “Who are you?” the man asked softly.

“I am no one.”

“No,” he uttered, and paused to let those dark brown eyes burrow into her own. “You are _someone._ ”

A cry from a baby startled me, and I looked to see a woman resting in bed next to a roaring fire. Daenerys Targaryen sat upon her bed, cradling her newborn child in her arms. “It’s a boy,” she said excitedly, as she dragged her small fingers over the child’s forehead.

Ser Jorah sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the child curiously. “What shall you call him, Khaleesi?”

“Aegon,” she answered him, once she finally raised her head to look at her faithful companion.

“Aegon Targaryen,” he said in an approving tone of voice. “He will make a great King one day.”

“Which is why we must win the Iron Throne.” She lowered her head to look at the crying child. “Even if I have to burn down the whole city.”

I suddenly saw the underbelly of a dragon as it flew over King’s Landing, and the cries of a thousand people as the dragon burned down their homes. I saw the Greyjoys ships docked along the bay ignite in flames, and I heard one voice over them all, it was a man’s voice that swore, “I’ll kill the bitch!”

The cries from the raven called my attention again, and I saw them perched upon the trees, looking at the walls of Winterfell. There was a panic inside the walls, and I heard a series of doors being locked and bolted away in a quick succession. “We’re awaiting your orders, your Grace,” a Winterfell guardsman said to King Baelish.

The man looked to his wife and saw her nod her head in agreement. “Now!” he shouted out from his throne, and the guards left the room in a single line. He turned his head to my sister, Sansa, and watched her rub her hand over her swollen belly worriedly. “I won’t let any harm come to you,” he assured her, and stood up on his feet to prove his resolve. He offered Sansa his hand and waited for her to take it. “I promise you, that you’ll be Queen one day, and you _will._ Do you believe me?”

Sansa placed her hand in his and let her husband lift her to her feet. He immediately flung his arms around her before he pressed her against his chest. “I do,” she said sweetly, and she sealed it with a kiss.

“All hail the King of the Seven Kingdoms!” a voice bellowed in the darkness, and the lights began to brighten in the throne room. It was filled from wall to wall with people, and they stood in awe as Euron Greyjoy mounted the steps to take the Iron Throne. He turned to his people and raised his hands in the air, as they shouted in applause, his newly created crown glimmered in the morning light as he bowed in gratitude towards the crowd.

“When you play the game of thrones, you live or you die,” Cersei warned my father, as they stood in the center of the King’s private garden. Her eyes were like a snake as she stared at my father’s haggard expression; he only stared at her back, not fully understanding the meaning behind her veiled threat. There was a ruffle in the breeze, and I could feel a burst of cold air disrupting my vision. It began to fade until I could see a look of regret on Cersei Lannister’s face as she stared into the fireplace. She was dressed in black from head to toe with a silver crown adorning her head. She took a sip of her wine before she turned her head to look at the man at her side. The man’s blue tunic was slightly opened, his tanned chest exposed as he leaned over the blazing fire. “I can’t give you what you want,” she uttered over her cup. “You know that as well as I.” She took another sip of her wine before she turned to the man staring at her intently. “I think you should leave now.”

“Do you want me to?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Its _him,_ isn’t it? That stands in our way.”

“A person like me could never be with someone like you,” she said spitefully, and only set the cup down on the table once he walked out of the room.

“Acchakat!” Ser Jorah yelled in a sharp tone. He took a step forwards and faced the big man, the largest Dothraki soldier you would have ever seen. “You are no _khal._ ”

“I am khal,” he rebutted, and slammed his closed fist over his chest.

“Khaleesi is.”

“Khaleesi is weak.”

“She’s pregnant.”

“From puny white man. We serve her no more.” The line of Dothraki soldiers roared in approval. “We will plunder the villages and make homes for ourselves here.”

“You are _supposed_ to fight in this war.”

“This is not our war,” he lightly said, and flicked his hand at the aging knight as he turned away from him.

The snow blew hard, a great gust of wind blinded my vision for a moment and then I saw an army spread out along the edges of a frozen lake. In front of them was their leader, the Night King, sitting atop of a large dragon as it looked across the snow-covered field on the other side of the lake. He rose his hand in the air slowly and pointed forward, the dragon let out a blaring squeal before a blaze of blue fire shot out from his mouth. The wings of the dragon flapped vigorously and took to the air, and it was only then that I knew the end was near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I am sorry for the lack of posts lately. I am currently busy with my sci-fi fic "To the Stars and Back." The Devil's Treachery won't be updated for another week or so, so feel free to check out my other fic while your waiting.
> 
> As always, enjoy the climb,
> 
> \- petyrbaaaeeelish


	32. Cersei's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I intended to write "To the Stars and Back" this morning, but I ended up writing this chapter. I'm sure you guys will be pleased that it ended up this way lol. As always, enjoy the climb!
> 
> \- petyrbaaaeeelish

**Cersei**

Brayden confidently walked through the doors and shot me a dazzling smile as he walked past me and took a seat at my right. _He’s so close now,_ I thought, as he leaned his arms over the table and let his fingers stroke the edges of his feather pen. “Your Grace,” he smoothly said, his eyes trailing all over my face. “Its just us today?”

“Qyburn is engaged elsewhere.”

“Oh,” he sadly said, but there was a pleasant glint in those azure blue eyes. “He will be missed.”

“He will,” I said flatly, and glanced over my shoulder to see if the Mountain was still there. I looked back at Brayden and saw a brief look of terror, it was obvious he felt some discomfort at the guard’s presence. _Good_ , I thought, _over the past several weeks he is becoming too familiar with me._ “Shall we begin?”

“I am your command.”

“First, I hear Lord Baelish has married Sansa Stark-”

“The Starks?”

“The very same.”

“You do not look pleased,” he observed, as he laid the quill pen flat on the table.

“Lord Baelish was supposed to bring me her head- not marry the girl.”

“Could this not work in our favour? You have spoken well of Lord Baelish before.”

“That man has an ego, and it has just gotten bigger,” I resentfully said. “Warden of the North! Its what he always wanted.”

“He could still be a powerful ally,” Brayden suggested. “It could give us more leverage in the North.”

“No… those days are done now. Our power over the North was gone the day Joffrey executed Ned Stark.”

“Is there no remedy?” he asked. “Nothing you can give to mitigate this situation?”

“What would you have me do?

“Offer something they can’t refuse.” He paused, and I could see his mind churning with possible answers. “You know Lord Baelish and his wife fairly well, if that is the case… what would they want more than anything in the world?”

 _Sansa would want my head,_ I mused, _but Petyr… what did Petyr always want? He wanted gold, but he always wanted something more- power. To be Warden of the North is not enough for him, he will always want more._ “The Iron Throne,” I blurted out, and turned my gaze to Brayden. “Littlefinger will want the Iron Throne.”

“Then we will give it to him.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. _What does he mean give it to him?_

“Make him your successor. You have no heirs, so let it be him.”

“And _why_ would I do that?”

“Because you need him on your side.”

“I don’t need anyone,” I spitefully said. “The minute Euron Greyjoy returns I’ll have him-”

“You put to much trust in him,” Brayden interjected.

“And you speak to freely!”

“Euron Greyjoy is a dangerous man,” he warned. “I wouldn’t trust him with a single ship, let alone a thousand fleets.” He saw my angered expression but continued none the less. “And you wish to marry that man? Does he know you’re pregnant?”

“No,” I replied. “And what if he does? I will never let him hurt my child.”

“It’d be different if it was  _his_ child.”

I stood up from my seat, feeling sick to my stomach and walked past the Mountain’s towering form, so I could walk over to the open windows. Snow was everywhere, covering every building as far as the eye could see.

“Your Grace, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Brayden noted, once he stood next to my side. “I am only…” he paused and turned himself to the window as well. “I only care for your well-being.”

“Nothing good ever comes from caring,” I shot out.

“There is some good,” he softly said. “That child that is growing inside of you will be the future King or Queen of Westeros.” He turned his head in my direction and added, “A Lannister on the Iron Throne.”

“And why do you care so much?” I bitterly asked, wishing he could treat me with the same cold indifference as everybody else.

“Because I think you are a good ruler, and your child will be one as well.”

 _This isn’t right,_ I thought, as I turned to look at him. _Why is he being so kind? Or am I just used to people being as cold as I?_

“I still think you should make Lord Baelish your successor,” he relayed. “Any command that is done, can easily be undone.”

“Why him?”

“Because he holds the North. Even my humble house is technically under his orders. If he openly declares war against you then I will have to-”

“He already has!” I interjected. “Cowering behind those walls.”

“That is not the same thing, your Grace.”

“I will think about it,” I assured him. “I think we should call this meeting to an end.”

“Your Grace,” he softly said, before he bowed low before me. A small smile graced his lips before he picked up his books and walked out the room.

* * *

I was covered in furs, a light dusty-blonde coloured fur from a lion adorned the edges of my hood and the inside of my cloak. I was standing in the open courtyard, staring at the icy map of Westeros. I dragged my feet across the map occasionally to wipe away the fresh fallen snow. It was late in the evening and I was feeling restless.

 _Could Brayden be right? Should I call a truce with the Starks?_ My burgeoning hatred for the Starks prevented me from doing so. _I will take them all down, until the lion is the only one left standing._

Brayden’s efforts with the grain crisis has proven successful. The cities outside of King’s Landing was willing to help. The neighboring houses were able to pull through as well; the Frey’s needed a little more convincing, nothing an armed infantry couldn't fix. They were not slaughtered entirely, but enough to leave them wounded and in search of a new leader that would align themselves with the Crown. _If only Walder Frey was still alive,_ I mused, _even if he was as slippery as a fish._

The Tully’s were quick to obey my commands and sent more than enough grain to last us a few more months. It was the Arryns that were silent, and my patience with them was thinning.

“Do you ever rest, your Grace?” Brayden asked, and I looked over my shoulder to see him standing at the entrance. _He is waiting for me to let him in,_ I realized, _so I nodded my head for him to approach._

“You care too much for my well-being.”

“Only your child,” he remarked, his eyes glancing across the expansive map. “Are you still thinking about the Starks?”

“What I am thinking about concerns you little.”

He chose not to reply, instead he stood along the very edges of the painted map and looked at the Western part of Westeros. “I can’t even see my home here,” he contemplated. “But I know it is there, even when others do not. I have found that to be an advantage.” His eyes glanced upwards and he straightened his back before he continued, “The Greyjoys have been raiding our lands from the very beginning. Tales from my great-grandmother’s mother that tell the story of them docking on the sandy shores of our rivers and making their way inland to plunder our homes and steal our livestock. To this day my home is built to protect against the raiders- towering walls, small windows, guards to patrol at night. The only reason they have been silent for so long is because you have sent them away.” He paused to see my reaction, and when I gave none he remarked, “I only wonder what will happen when they come back?”

“They will follow my orders.”

“The Greyjoys have never listened to the Crown, not now- not ever.”

“You judge them because-”

“I do not judge, your Grace. I am simply stating facts.” He put his hands behind his back and walked towards me at a leisurely pace. “You may have been able to control the Mountain, but you will not be able to do that with Euron Greyjoy.”

“You hate him.”

“I hate them both,” he softly said. “I hate them for what they did to my family. You and I are more alike than you know.”

“The only allies I have, you see as enemies!” I pointed out. “So, that would make you _my_ enemy.”

“I am your friend,” he assured me, once he stood uncomfortably close to me.

“I am marrying him,” I resolved, though my voice shook slightly. “And there is nothing you or my brother can do to stop it.”

Brayden only pursed his lips in reply, staring into my hazel eyes with puzzlement. He swallowed hard once his eyes lowered to my lips. “I’m not your brother,” he hushed, before his eyes flickered up into my own hazel orbs.

“No… you’re not,” I said with resentment and turned away from him before he had anything else more to say.

* * *

I was surprised to see Brayden absent from my council the following day, when I asked Qyburn where he was he simply replied that Brayden was feeling under the weather this morning. The council was brief, since Qyburn had little to contribute to our ongoing problems. The only consolation he was able to provide was his recent construction of five dragon killing machines ready to operate at my command. _I’ll be ready for her,_ I deliberated, as I got up from my seat and called this meeting to an end.

It wasn’t until I received a letter in the late evening that I briskly walked to Brayden’s quarters and rapped on the door. There was a look of surprise on his face when he eyed me, but it quickly fell once he noticed the shadowy figure behind me. “Wait outside,” I ordered to the Mountain before I walked into Brayden’s room uninvited. _It belongs to me anyways,_ I contemplated, _everything will always belong to me._

“I apologize for the mess,” he noted, as he picked up his books that were scattered across the floor and table. “I don’t get visitors.”

“Where were you today?” I asked, ignoring the fact that he was only in his dressing robe, and it was too short for my liking.

“I was unwell,” he replied, while his back was still towards me. “I think I caught a cold staring at that map for too long.”

“That wasn’t clever,” I retorted, after I moved a book off his wooden chair, so I could take a seat in front of his cluttered desk.

“No… I was thinking.”

“What about?”

“ _You,_ your Grace.” Most of his books were set aside by now and he went over to the chair opposite my own to retrieve his pants. “I just realized I am undressed.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” I assured him.

“How very true.”

“I brought you this,” I remarked, once I pulled the letter out of my coat pocket. “I wanted you to read it.”

“It is good news. I can see it on your face.” He rubbed his finger across the broken seal as he added, “Is this the _first_ time I’ve ever seen you smile?”

“Perhaps,” I answered, and looked away from his curious gaze. Brayden sat down on the chair opposite me before he began to read. It took him a few minutes to read the long letter before he slammed it down on the table excitedly.

“This is wonderful news!” he exclaimed, as he pointed at the letter. “The Arryn’s swore an allegiance to you.”

“And promised to provide grain.”

“Who knew they would have so much!”

“The works of Littlefinger, but you see his plans have backfired on him at last.”

“There’s that smile again,” he noted. “You really do hate him.”

“I do,” I said in a chilling tone of voice. “He must be second guessing his marriage proposal to Sansa Stark now.”

“Did he not know Robin Arryn had every intention to marry her?”

“For once his ambitions have caught him in a snare!” I said gleefully.

“It says he is losing _all_ of the Vale’s army as well. That means he will be completely defenseless-”

“A perfect time for an armed attack,” I cried, and stood up abruptly to drag Brayden to his feet. “That means I’ll have _all_ of it.”

“You will, your Grace. Every last stone shall be yours.”

I leaned in and kissed him for that, not entirely thinking it through as I forced myself upon him and steered him towards the bed.

“Your Grace,” he said in bewilderment, once I tossed him into bed. “I don’t think-”

“Will you _refuse_ your Queen?”

“No, but-” he looked around the room, desperately searching for an excuse. “Your child.”

“My child is safe with me,” I warned him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.”

“Of course,” he said uneasily. “But this would change things, and I only live to serve-”

“Then serve,” I rapped out, before I pulled off my cloak and tossed it aside. “Serve your Queen,” I purred, as I unbuttoned my dress before him.

“Your Grace,” he breathed, once the front of my dress was unbuttoned and unraveling at the seams.

“Cersei,” I instructed. “Tonight, I’ll be Cersei, and then tomorrow I will be your Queen.”

“Cersei,” he hushed, before he crawled out of his bed and stood to his feet. His eyes look all over me, taking in the grooves of my breasts though most of it was still tucked away in my dress. He finally looked up, and those azure blue eyes looked at me with understanding. “Tonight we shall celebrate your victory. To the _end_ of the Starks.”

“Until every last brick has fallen down,” I whispered, and waited for him to lean in and finally kiss me.

 


	33. A True Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jorah**

The fire was low in the grate, and no matter how many times I stirred the fire it would not grow. _I need more wood,_ I thought, but the trees outside were covered in ice and snow. For four days there was an ice storm, and it had finally relented tonight. I looked over my shoulder at the fur covered bed, hearing the gentle breathing of Daenerys Stormborn. _My khaleesi,_ I thought, as I turned around to face the low makeshift bed.

Its been almost a week and she barely stirred, slipping in an out of consciousness daily since I pulled her off the back of Drogon. _I was a fool to let her go,_ I thought, as I clenched my fist tightly and looked at the blackened scars left from the grey scales. _She would have gone without me,_ I surmised, _she has a will of iron._

I could hear the gentle murmurings of people outside her tent, it was late but there was still some Dothraki soldiers stirring about. I tightened the straps around my armour and unsheathed my sword for a moment to raise the silver metal in the firelight. _I will protect her,_ I thought, _until my very last breath._ These were dark times we were living in, there are talks of the Dothraki soldiers wanting to leave to go south. They believe her to be weak, and how could they not when she lies in bed as pale as snow, and as motionless as the stones outside. I lowered my sword and sheathed it back in place, wandering over to the tents entrance to take a look outside. Darkness had descended upon the shanty tents and only a few men were wandering across the icy paths. _Where’s Jon Snow,_ I wondered, after I let the flaps of the tent fall back into place. I would be lying if I didn’t say I was not enjoying these precious moments alone with her, a thing I rarely was able to enjoy now that Jon Snow has full command over her army. _They are restless,_ I surmised, _and so am I after weeks of encampment without any knowledge of leaving it any time soon. We are warriors,_ I mused, _we are meant to fight or die trying. We are conquerors too, and Daenerys is the greatest of them all._

 _World conquest is an alluring dream,_ I deliberated after I turned around to face her makeshift bed again. _But there are few who have ever awakened to find it._

I heard gentle murmurs escape her lips, so I went over to the bed and kneeled before her. “Khaleesi?” I hushed and brushed her silvery hair away from her smooth cheeks. She leaned into my hand unknowingly, her lips just brushing against the front of my wrist. “Khaleesi,” I muttered, as I saw the lids of her eyes blink open and those wonderous blue eyes of hers stared back at me. The corner of my lips twitched until it formed into a smile, long lines stretched across my cheeks as I smiled back at her.

“Ser Jorah,” she muttered, and blinked again as if she could not believe her eyes.

“Yes, Khaleesi.” I found my fingers unconsciously stroking the side of her cheek, wanting her to lean into me a little bit more.

“You found me,” she said with surprise.

“I did. You were found unconscious atop of Drogon.”

“Oh,” she said wearily, and looked away from me as if the past was finally catching up to her.

“He’s injured!” she blurted out suddenly in a child-like voice. I swallowed hard, not sure if I should tell her the truth just yet. _What will she do when she finds out he has flown away, and has yet to come back?_ Daenerys looked at me with concern, sensing my thoughts were turning to another direction. “What are you not telling me?”

“Drogon is injured. He attacked our men.”

“Ours?”

“The Dothraki’s.”

“I don’t understand,” she relayed, as she tried to sit up on the bed. I assisted her with her endeavours and made sure she had enough pillows pressed against her small back.

“It was as though he was possessed, “I observed. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

“We should be dead,” she said with a wide-eyed expression. I sighed and leaned away from her, suddenly noticing how close I was to her. Her eyebrows lowered over her head, those bright blue eyes looked troubled as she looked down at her furry sheets. “There is too many of them, Jorah,” she whispered. “I don’t think we can stop them.”

“We can try.”

“My brave knight,” she cooed, and looked up at me with a small smile. “You would follow me to the ends of the earth, wouldn’t you?”

“I live to serve my Queen,” I assured her.

“Then you will help me fight this war?”

“I will.”

“And Jon…” my face fell at that, and I instinctively looked away from her to hide my pained expression. “What about Jon?”

“He is fine.”

“Where is he? I must tell him everything.”

“He is outside, your Grace.” The tone of my voice made her look at me strangely, but I was in no humour to return her inquisitive stare. I stood to my feet and grumbled, “Would you like me to fetch him?”

“No.” Her pale hand raised in the air entreatingly. “You have taken care of me… I know it.”

I slid my rough hand into hers and kneeled to the floor, so I could be leveled with her once again. “I have watched you every hour of every day,” I reassured her.

“You do not sleep?” she teased, and I found her pulling my hand forward, so I could lean upon the bed. “I owe you a debt.”

“There is no debt, Khaleesi.”

“You have saved my life more times than I can count.” She paused and looked down at the marks scaring the length of my hand and arm. “And you came back to me.”

“It was you who gave me a reason to live,” I droned, as I watched her fingers gently stroke my marred hand. “When you take the Seven Kingdoms I want to be by your side.”

“I want that too,” she answered, and it was only then that she looked upwards until she reached my eyes. _I love you,_ I wanted to say, but I could not find the strength to utter it aloud. She belongs to another now, and it is not for me to stand in the way.

“There is something you should know,” I said, as I pulled my hand out of her grip. “The day we found you the sun rose in the west instead of the east. That can only mean one thing… the prophecy will be fulfilled.”

“The Stallion who mounts the world,” she uttered, and sat up on the bed fully. “The Khal who was promised to unite them all, and conqueror the world.”

“He lives inside of you now,” I assured her, and watched her frightened expression as she looked away from me.

“It can’t be now? There is a war to fight, and I have an army to lead.”

“Jon Snow can-”

“It is not Jon Snow’s job to lead the Unsullied and the Dothraki. It is I!”

“And you will,” I reminded her. “But you have to think about the child as well.”

“I wasn’t supposed too…” she turned away from me and pursed her lips. “It was supposed to be Khal Drogo’s.”

“I know,” I murmured. Daenerys played with her hair, twisting it around her fingers fondly. She was looking away from me, a slight smile played upon her face.

“We were supposed to conqueror Westeros together. My moon and my stars,” she said lightly, and lowered the sheets down till it hugged her waist. “I dreamed of him.”

I slunk onto the side of her bed and let my right knee rest against the edge. Some would say it was too familiar, but I have known her since she was a child- loved her, and she knew, for she rested her hand atop of mine affectionately. “What was he like in your dreams?”

“The same as always,” she laughed, and looked up to the fluttering tent above our heads. “He’s waiting for me.”

“He loved you very much,” I consoled her, and found my hand had been flipped over so she could hold my hand in her own.

“And I loved him,” she said with a sudden warmth. “I shall take the Iron Throne for him. Burn down every last city till none should stand.”

“Then you shall rule nothing but fire and ashes.”

“So be it,” she said sharply, and I felt her nails dig into my skin.

“You truly are a dragon,” I breathed. She looked at me fiercely, those blue eyes went as cold as ice.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.” She let go of my hand then, and added, “So, of course I am a dragon.” She looked slightly annoyed as she slipped out of the covers and went towards the fluttering fires. “We have a war to win. Bring me Jon Snow, and make sure there is a council convened for tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Khaleesi,” I answered her, and gave her a low bow though she did not see it, before I turned to leave.

* * *

I wasn’t expecting this, to be summoned to the Queen’s council alongside everyone else. I have never cared for politics, it was swords that fascinated me, it was the only thing that kept me going during those long years of exile. I was following the crowds as I made my way to meeting tent, keeping to myself, but ever watchful especially where the Dothraki were concerned. They looked at me uneasily as I passed them, knowing I knew fully well what they were saying. _They’d cut out my tongue if I don’t be careful,_ I thought _,_ and found my hand clenched the hilt of my sword a little tighter. The largest one, Zuhair, narrowed his eyes at me as I passed through the crowds, but luckily for me he didn’t get any smart ideas.

 _We need Drogon back,_ I deliberated, _and we need Daenerys to show her strength again._ I walked through the opening of the tent and made my way to the very back, feeling no need to sit down like the others. I brushed against a Wildling, he looked at me suspiciously before he nodded his head in acknowledgement. There was a time when he would be my enemy, but all of that is forgotten now. Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen united us all, but it could easily fall apart if they weren’t careful. Already I could see the strands tearing at the seams as I watched each man stand alongside their own.

Jon Snow walked into the tent, arm in arm with Daenerys. I let out a small smile as he led her to the front of the room, feeling some regret as I saw their frequent glances at each other. Daenerys cleared her throat before she began, “We are at war. The threat that Jon Snow speaks about is real. I saw it with my very own eyes… thousands of them.” She paused and turned her head from side to side to look at us all. “They are coming.”

“We need to get ready to march now,” Jon Snow added, as he took his place by her side.

“They are past the East Wall, and our taking the low valleys as much as possible to reach us. There is still time to stop them.”

“I want every man to be ready by tomorrow morning, ready to march with me towards the East Wall. If we hurry we can stop them before they go any further.” Jon Snow paused and glanced over to Daenerys. “We are one dragon down, but that doesn’t mean we can’t stop them. Daenerys will wait here…” he paused, once the murmuring among the people started. “To wait for Drogon, it is only a matter of time till he returns, and I want her to stay where it was the last place he saw her.”

“Rhaegal will go with him,” she interjected.

“We didn’t agree to that,” he chided. “He stays here with _you._ ”

“What good is it to go off and fight a war without a dragon.”

“It’s the last one,” he said in a low tenor.

“And I give him to you,” she said while she looked him straight in the eye. “Only to you.”

Jon Snow bit down on his lip before he looked away from her. “There is one other thing,” he announced to the crowd. “We have to decided to unite the two houses once and for all. This evening I shall marry Daenerys…”

 _No,_ I thought, and found my feet faltering beneath me until I crashed into the Wildling beside me. He was quick to steady me to my feet, but he noticed my pained expression and helped me out of the tent from the back.

“You alright?” he asked with a thick northern accent, he leaned down a bit to stare into my face. “You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” I spat out, before I let out a long exhale. “I just needed some fresh air.”

“You look sick,” he noted. “Make sure you take it easy, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Yeah.”

“Russel,” he remarked, once he stretched out his hand towards me.

“Jorah,” I replied, and shook it firmly.

“Strong grip. You’re a fighter?”

“Aren’t we all?” I drawled, before I let my gloved hand fall to my side again.

“Yeah,” he laughed. He looked over his shoulder before he turned back to me. “I’m going back inside. Don’t want to miss anything else. You coming?”

“No,” I droned. “I think I’ll wait out here a little longer.”

“Right,” he said after he shrugged his shoulders at me. “See you inside.”

The moment he left I turned to the right and made my way back to camp, hoping not to encounter anyone else till I made my way to my tent. My feet felt heavy as I trudged through the snow, and I found myself wishing for the comforts of my bed and some ale. _When’s the last time I had ale,_ I thought, before I bumped into a crowd of men to force my way through.

“Ser Jorah, right?” one of the men asked, as he turned around to face me. He was medium-height with a dark, burly beard and a shaved head. He gave me a harmless smile before he took a step forward and introduced himself. “Ser Davos Seaworth,” he related, and offered his hand for me to shake. “I know all about you. The Queen speaks fondly of you.”

I shook his hand silently, before I looked over his shoulder wondering how far my tent was from here. “I heard your not a talker,” Ser Davos added, before his eyes scanned the whole of my armour. “But that’s what your sword is for."

I chewed on the inside of my lip, wondering where he was going with this. _This man’s a talker,_ I thought, _and I’m in no mood for him._ “So, I expect I’ll see you at the wedding,” Ser Davos noted. “Given how close you are to the Queen. I heard she’s pregnant too, can you imagine that?”

“Yes,” I answered in a gruff tone of voice. “I can.”

“Young love,” the man laughed. “I remember those days!”

 _So, do I,_ I mused, _and I don’t want to think about that now._ “I am needed,” I lied, as I took a step away from him. “Excuse me.”

Ser Davos raised his hand goodbye, and I brusquely walked through the crowd with every intention to drink any bottle I could find before the night was through.

* * *

“So, you’ve come,” Daenerys said to me the minute I walked through the tents opening. She looked me up and down once I pulled down the dark hood and tugged at the top buttons until my face was fully revealed. “I was starting to wonder…”

“I am at your command, Khaleesi. _Always._ ”

“Something we are grateful for,” Jon commented, as he sat down on the bed beside his soon to be wife. “I have told her how you took care of her when she was ill.”

“It was nothing.”

“And how you intervened when the Dothraki’s wanted to kill Drogon. Jon told me you said something to them that made them stop.”

“It was Rhaegal that did the real convincing.”

“Still…” she uttered in a strangely compelling voice. “You stopped them.”

“And I lost Drogon because of it.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Jon interjected. “There was nothing we could do.”

“I will find Drogon,” she promised. “And I will help you fight in the wars to come.”

Jon whispered something into her ear, which made her look at him in anger. She turned to me and asked, “Jon wishes me to stay. What do you think?”

“Stay? For how long, Khaleesi?”

“He means me to stay here forever.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows and turned to the boy who thought he could control a dragon. “Is that so?”

“I only care for her safety, and the safety of _our_ child,” he explained.

“You wish her to stand on the sidelines and watch?”

“I only wish to-”

“It doesn’t matter what you wish!” she shouted out. “It doesn’t matter because the Dothraki and the Unsullied will not follow you- _only_ me.”

“You don’t know that for certain-”

“I do,” she said in a sharp tone of voice. She stood to her feet and walked away from him, wandering around the room before she added, “They will stay here with me.”

“And what will you have them do?” Jon asked. He stood to his feet and shouted, “Wait here until you deliver our baby?”

“They will not follow you!” Daenerys said with bitterness. “So, either you take me with you or they stay here.”

“If you want me to go up with my men and the Northerns than I will-”

“I want you to fight alongside of me,” she interjected. “I thought we were in this together!”

“We are,” he shouted, and with that I started to take a few steps back, feeling my presence was no longer wanted.

“You say that, and then you want me to stay here!” Daenerys walked away from him and unaccountably went towards me. “Jorah! What do you think?”

“I…” I paused and looked at the two of them. “It is not my place to come between a husband and wife.”

“We are not married… yet.” She shot Jon a venomous look before she turned back to me. “What do you think?”

“I think you should go with him.”

“See!” Jon shouted out with his hands in the air.

“But… I am also concerned for your child. We cannot lose him.”

“Why are you so sure he’s a boy?” Jon asked, as he strode towards me.

“Because I was there when the prophecy was uttered,” I answered him. “I was there since the beginning.”

“Ser Jorah,” Daenerys said sweetly, and took my hand in her own. “You have always been a true friend to me. What would you have me do?”

“Have a small party stay here with you. Let us wait and see if Drogon returns.” I looked over her shoulder to stare at Jon gravely. “Have Jon take the whole army up north and let him settle this once and for all.”

“They will not follow him.”

“They can… if you tell them too.” I chewed on my bottom lip pensively before I continued, “After all, he is a King.”

“And I am a Queen,” she retorted. She let go of my hands then and returned to his side. “Thank you, Jorah, we know what to do now.”

I nodded my head in understanding and turned to go when she stopped me by grabbing my arm. “You will stay with me, won’t you? When the others go up north?”

“I will.”

“And you will be at our wedding this evening?”

“I will,” I hushed, and made sure not to look into either of their eyes at that moment.

“You’re a true friend,” she said in the softest of tones. “Thank you.”

I offered her a small smile and turned to go, not wanting the depths of my feelings to be shown in front of her. As I trudged through the snow I heard the King of the North call out my name, and I looked behind me to see him running after me. “I wanted to thank you,” Jon said, and held out his hand in front of me. “And thank you for taking care of my Dany when I’m gone.”

I shook his hand silently, offering a smile that I did not truly feel. He patted me on the shoulder before he turned to leave, and I watched him walk back to Daenerys tent soberly. I closed my eyes and lifted my head to the sky, letting the snowflakes drop upon my face. I felt nothing at all at that moment, only a numbness that I could not escape. _Your a true friend,_ rang through my ears, and I lowered my head in defeat knowing her words were true. _I only wish I was more._

 


	34. Master of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

“What the fuck is that!” I angrily yelled and slammed the tarnished letter on the council table. “What the fuck did I just read?”

Varys held up his hand and answered, “I believe-”

“I already know what I fucking read!” I threw my hands in the air and walked further away from the table. “Letter after letter of bad news,” I drawled, my lips puckering with annoyance as I stroked my hair upwards.

“Is it so bad that Daenerys Targaryen married Jon Snow?” Tyrion asked behind me.

“The King of the North has just married a southern usurper,” Royce pointed out.

“She has a claim to the Iron Throne,” Tyrion reminded us. “Is this not better-”

“There is no good to come from this!” Sansa rebutted. “First he bends the knee to her and now he-”

“Fucks her!” I cut in, and turned around to face the small council. “No, there is no good that can come from this.”

“I’d say your jealous,” Varys quipped. “He has more claim to the Iron Throne, whereas you… do not.”

“If I want the Iron Throne I’ll take it my own way,” I shot out, as I strode towards the table.

“Says the one who married the Wardness of the North,” Tyrion added in.

“He did not marry me for political purposes,” Sansa argued.

“Oh yes, it was for _love,_ ” Tyrion said in a sarcastic tone.

“I will not have you speak to my wife that way,” I warned.

“Your just angry, Baelish, because for once in your life things aren’t going your way,” Varys pointed out.

I turned my heated gaze to Sansa, and I knew by the expression in her eyes that she agreed with Lord Varys. “No, it is not going my way,” I admitted.

“If something should happen to Daenerys than Jon Snow will be herald not only the King of the North but the south as well.”

“The whole god damn kingdom,” I droned.

“Imagine that… a Stark as the King of Westeros,” Varys mused. “You must be very happy, Lady Sansa.”

“I am pleased,” my wife lied.

“Jon Snow will make a good King,” Tyrion deliberated. “He is a good man. Well loved by his people, and they will follow him willingly.”

“But he is too much like my father,” Sansa interjected. “Like Robb.”

“He will not make the same mistakes as them.”

“He is a good man,” Sansa said in a sweet voice. “And sometimes it is hard for a good man to be King.” She looked at me then with that knowing stare, and I know she had sided with me all along. _My plans for his destruction begins now._

“Still,” Tyrion uttered, as he swirled the wine around the inside of his cup. “He will make a good one.”

“That’s if he makes it through the battle,” I pointed out.

“That is true.”

“And Daenerys is in grave danger as well,” I said in a raspy voice, while I leaned against my chair. “Pregnant at such a time as this… why anything can happen?”

“She is a strong woman, Lord Baelish, I am almost certain she can handle herself.”

Varys looked at me with a raised eyebrow, sensing my unutterable thoughts. “Are you scared of an unborn child?” he taunted.

“I take the threat very seriously,” I answered. “I’d be a fool not too.”

“You sound a lot like Robert Baratheon.”

“He was a terrible King to be sure, but he knew the threat of the Targaryen dynasty all to well.”

“It was his grief of Lyanna Stark that made him that way.” Varys turned his gaze to my wife and added, “Only a beautiful woman can find a way to pierce even the coldest man’s heart.”

 _Was that for me,_ I thought, as I narrowed my eyes at him. I glanced over at Sansa and saw a curious expression come across her face, and I knew that somehow Tyrion and Varys had been poisoning her mind, causing a rift between us. _I should never have let them cross Winterfell’s gates._

“I hardly know what your going on about,” Tyrion yawned over his cup. “Every time I took you to a brothel you didn’t know where to stare.”

“Have we landed on the subject of whores already?” Royce asked in the severest of tones. “That seems to be a recurring topic for you.”

“And your daughter,” Tyrion rapped out. “She is ever so fond of the subject.”

Royce stood up in his chair ready to intimate the dwarf, but Sansa came to his rescue by shouting, “Can everyone please sit down and be quiet.” She waited until Royce took his seat before she added, “Nothing good will come from us shouting at each other. We need to learn to work together. Petyr…” she turned those sea blue eyes in my direction and scanned my impassive visage before she asked, “Do you have a plan?”

“Don’t I always,” I teased, and lifted the withered letter in the air again. “What have we learned from this? That Jon Snow intends to take the whole army up north to battle the dead. His wife…” I paused, trying to swallow down the bitterness of the word. “Has decided to stay behind to wait for her dragon-”

“Drogon,” Tyrion interjected. “Her favourite, I think. She would never go anywhere without him.”

“And do we have any idea where this dragon went?” Varys asked, finally saying something sensible on the subject matter.

“South.”

“But that could be anywhere,” Sansa relayed with uneasiness. “He could even be heading here.”

“Drogon would not harm us.”

“And yet this letter says that he attacked Daenerys men,” I reminded him. “If he attacked the Dothraki, why not us?”

“You put too much focus on yourself,” Varys argued. “The whole world doesn’t revolve around Petyr Baelish.”

“Quite the contrary.”

“The dragon,” Sansa reminded us. “Please, can we just stay focused-”

“I’ll have my men stay on guard day and night,” Royce cut in. “At least we will have some warning if it does attack Winterfell.”

“I am curious why you decided to stay,” I piped up. “Surely, the Vale is more promising to you.”

“I have no lands or titles, what is there for me now?”

“Redeption,” I replied. The corner of my lip twitched when I added, “Revenge.”

“Revenge on Lord Robin? No, I couldn’t possibility do that!”

“You served the Arryns’ family for generations. Then this… young boy thinks he has the power to thwart us.”

“This young boy is the Lord of the Vale,” Tyrion interjected.

“He is a boy still,” I said quickly. “But there is another more promising… one who will gladly align himself to our cause.”

“Treason,” objected Royce. “What you speak of is treasonous, Lord Baelish.”

“I thought we had an alliance, Lord Robin and I.” I looked down at my hand as I twisted my wedding band around my finger. My voice was dangerously low when I added, “But it seems I was wrong. A mistake I will never make again.”

There was an awkward silence as everyone looked around at each other. Sansa was accustomed to see this side of me, but the freshness of my anger- the burning resentment seemed to startle the remaining council members.

“Who do you have in mind?” Sansa asked, her voice commanding enough for me to lift my eyes to her.

“Someone who hates Queen Cersei just as much as you and I.” I stretched out my hands across the table, my finger tracing an invisible circle across the wooden surface. “Not everyone is _so_ willing to bend the knee to the Queen. He is young, brash, and foolish but… I’m willing to gamble on him rather than Robin.”

“Robin abandoned us,” Sansa said with bitterness. “I’m willing to side with anyone but him.”

“Robin is not our enemy,” I reminded her. “We must make peace with him, or at least try too.”

“Make peace with our enemies,” Tyrion called out, and raised his cup at me. “You told me that once.”

“I’m glad you remembered,” I answered him, while I nodded my head in approval. “We must make amends with Lord Robin.”

“But?” Sansa uttered, knowing I was hiding something. _My sweet Sansa, you must learn to keep your most valuable cards to your chest._

“But… we must also have a… valuable piece kept to the side just in case.”

“And what is this piece?” Varys asked, his voice enchanting enough to make a man reveal his deepest secrets, but it would not work on me.

“One not significant enough to attract your attention, Varys,” I quickly said, and snatched at the letter ahead of me, hoping to distract him for a little while longer. “For now, we must decide what to do with this news?”

“We must tell them,” Sansa said wearily. “Our people must know the truth.”

“It will come out eventually if we do not,” Varys said with an indifferent shrug.

Sansa looked at me slightly worried, but when she saw the dangerous glimmer in my eyes she became more self-assured. Her back straightened on the chair and her head lifted a little bit higher in defiance. _Only a glance can do that,_ I thought, _what will a touch do?_

“When we will tell them?” Tyrion asked, before he took another sip from his wine.

“We will inform them tomorrow morning.”

“Why the delay?” Varys asked suspiciously.

“Let them think fondly of _their_ King for a little while longer.” I stood up from my seat and threw the paper down in the center of the table. “Now, if you excuse me I have other matters to attend too. Sansa…” I raised my hand in the air and waited for her to take it. She hesitated for a moment before she placed it in mine. _That’s the third time she’s done that,_ I observed, and made sure to keep my face impassive as she glanced over my visage.

We walked out of the council room silently, her body distant from me though we walked arm in arm. I led her down the hallway and decided to take her outside for some fresh air. _There_ _is none of Varys little birds out here,_ I surmised, as I looked around the empty courtyard. My thoughts were distracted when Sansa asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

She didn’t answer me, and I looked over to see her eyebrows lowered over her eyes worriedly. I continued to lead her through the courtyard and rounded the castle walls before I took her down the creaky wooden steps. “To the crypts,” she remarked, in a high-pitch voice.

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

“You sound frightened-”

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” I drawled and looked over my shoulder to make sure we were not being followed.

“I am not afraid.”

“Yet you sound worried.” I paused, and glanced over to her when I asked, “Why is that?”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” I puckered my lips and looked away from her grievously. “I have noticed a strain between us… has a little bird whispered something into your ear?”

“Varys hasn’t done anything.”

“He is useful,” I mused aloud. “But I would not hesitate for one moment to be rid of him.”

“Varys hasn’t told me anything,” she said in distress.

I halted my feet and turned to her, though it was dark in the crypts I could still make out her silhouette in the dim candle light. “What are you not telling me?”

“There is nothing to tell.”

“There is,” I drawled in a low tenor. I took a step into her space and looked at her intently. “Sansa.”

“Should I trust you?”

“Of course! Who else is there to trust but me?”

“You would never lie to me-”

“We had this discussion before,” I interrupted. “I tell you _everything._ ”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Then who were you referring to in the council? Who would you gamble upon-”

“That isn’t relevant right now,” I chided. “What are you _not_ telling me?”

“Will you betray me?”

“Never.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“What little lie has Varys and Tyrion been telling you.”

“Nothing!”

“Sansa,” I groaned, and laid my hand on either side of her arm. “You are the only thing I have… don’t let them come between us.”

“I can’t trust you,” she admitted. “Not after…”

“After what?”

“Bran…”

My breath was caught in my lungs, and one image stood out in my mind alone: Arya. I was motionless as she made small whimpers in my arms, trying to hold back any tears that threatened to fall. “Bran said you would betray me.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Well, he said someone-”

“And you just _assumed_ it was me,” I angrily said, and took a step away from her.

“Petyr, please…” I took another step away, trying to control the rage that was gnawing away inside of me. “I know who much you hate Jon-”

“I would never do something to hurt you,” I shot back. “I would tell you-”

“No, you wouldn’t-”

“Sansa, I love you!” I yelled. “Don’t you know how much I care for you? If I plan something for Jon Snow then I will tell you.”

She walked over to me and wrapped her arms around my stiff shoulders, before she buried her head into the crook of my neck. “Petyr, I’m-”

“I know, love,” I whispered, and relaxed my arms so I could hug her back.

“Sometimes I have doubts and it just gets into my head and…”

“I understand. But don’t you understand that Varys and Tyrion can see that? They play with it, and make things bigger than it seems.” I moved my arms upwards so that I could cup her cheeks. “We have to trust one another.”

“I know.”

“I made an oath… you made one too. I promised to serve you, work alongside of you-”

“I know.”

“Then you have to believe me,” I entreated. “I will never betray you again.”

She let out a long sigh at the side of my neck. I brushed my fingers down her back as I tried to calm her down. _My sweet Sansa,_ I mused, and leaned back a little so I could kiss her. She quickly returned them, wanting to apologize with her delicate movements rather than her words. She broke her lips away to look at me, and simply brushed my wind-blown hair to the sides. “You really do love me.”

“I do,” I breathed, and left a lingering kiss at the side of her cheek.

“No more secrets,” she warned.

“No more.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” _But some secrets are best kept to yourself,_ I thought, as I eyed the carved shrine of Ned Stark down the hall.

“One more thing,” she added, and leaned off my chest slightly. “Who did you have in mind, if our alliance with the Arryns should fail?"

“I don’t want it too,” I confessed. “Your cousin is a very valuable asset to our alliance. The North and the Eastern part of Westeros united would make a formidable foe for Cersei.”

“But he removed his army from Winterfell,” Sansa reminded me. “And he threatened to take your Lordship away.”

“I know,” I sneered from the corner of my mouth.

“So, what do you propose to do?”

“Look to another,” I replied. “It is time to make a new alliance.”

“Yes, but with who?”

“Harrold Hardyng.”

“You mentioned him once before.” Her fingers smoothing down the greys along my temple fondly. “You did not like him.”

“I still don’t,” I answered her. “But luckily for me he does not care for Sweet Robin.”

“I don’t like the sound of your voice,” she observed. “What are you going to do?”

“There are rebel forces in the Eyrie who support Hardyng. If I could provide enough financial support than I can-”

“You want to usurp him,” Sansa exclaimed.

I caught her by the wrists as she took a step back and slowly pulled her back into my space. “I am only planning for our future.” I loosened my grip and smoothed down her wrists in silent apology. “Our child’s future.”

“How can you be so sure your plan won’t backfire,” she reasoned. “Just like the grain that Cersei took.”

“I’m not. But it’s better than what we have now.” I took a deep breath and let out a long exhale as I looked away from her. “I would rather the Eyrie be torn apart by those two lords than watch it bend the knee to Cersei.”

“Then let’s do it,” Sansa resolved. Her hands slipped around the back of my neck to pull me in, so I could kiss her. “I want this.”

“And I want you,” I drawled, and bit at my lip wantonly before I finally leaned in to kiss her. Her kisses eagerly matched mine, quick and fierce until I found my lips were trailing away from her own and down her smooth neck. She made a pleasant sound as I nipped her smooth skin, once again marking her as my own. _It’s been too long,_ I thought, as I felt a hardness growing down below.

“You have been very patient with me,” Sansa mediated.

“Yes, you’ve been avoiding me.” I paused, once I saw her fingers unbuttoning my cloak one at a time. “I thought it was morning sickness or something.”

“I was sick,” she relayed. “But I wasn’t avoiding you because of that.”

“It’s because you didn’t trust me,” I answered her. “Because of Varys and Tyrion.”

“It’s forgotten now,” she said soothingly. “I only want to please my _husband._ ”

I licked my lips as I stared down at her, watching her loosen the last button before she worked her hands over my trousers as well. I looked over her shoulder and saw Ned Stark’s bust. _Oh, if he could see this now._

“This is my promise that I will never doubt you again,” Sansa said in a leveled voice, before she dropped my trousers to the ground. I leaned my head against the wall, extending it upwards till I could stare at the cobweb ceiling. I let out a sharp inhale as I felt her mouth wrap around my member, pursing it between her lips before she slid upwards for more. I let out a sound as I felt her tongue glide down the underside, making me shake against the wall.

“Seven hells, Sansa,” I groaned, as she licked the other side as well, and I heard her tongue lapping at me eagerly before she swallowed me whole. I made a sharp hissing sound, pounding my hand against the wall behind me as she took in more. She slid her mouth out and started to kiss my swollen cock while her hands gently grazed the front of my legs.

“Are you pleased?” she cooed in a soft, loving voice.

“Yes, sweetling,” I breathed, as I tried to catch my breath. “You were perfect.”

“Perfect?” she asked, her voice ringing like a bell as she uttered it.

“Yes, Sansa.”

She drew herself upwards, taking in my half-closed eyes and my mouth wide open as I still tried to catch my breath. “I want to sleep with you tonight.”

“Ah, my pretty wife has finally come to her senses.”

“Yes, she has.” Sansa leaned against my chest, playing with my short locks as she looked up at me.

“If you do that again tonight, then maybe I’ll forgive you.”

“Or I could do it now?”

“Oh, so eager,” I teased, and leaned in to kiss her in gratitude. Her lips tasted different, it wasn’t as sweet as normal, but it didn’t bother me once she opened her mouth to let my tongue slip through. She bent her tongue down low and let me explore, trailing around the inside of her cheeks before I prodded the center of her tongue teasingly. She began to fight back, and soon it was her tongue searching the inside of my sphere. “I have half a mind to do you over there,” I noted, and nodded my head to the far corner where Ned’s statue was.

“Really, Petyr,” she scolded me, and hit the center of my chest lightly. “Out of all the things to say.”

I chuckled at her and let her push me to the wall, so she could pin herself against me and cover my face with kisses. I caught her lips while she was off-guard and tilted her head slightly with my hand so I could deepen our kisses. “Sansa,” I said between a kiss. “Anymore of this I’ll have to you here.”

“Then we better go,” she suggested. “I don’t want my father to see.”

I drew the back of her hand to my lips and kissed it sweetly. “I would never degrade you here.”

“Oh, but I didn’t hear you arguing when I sucked your cock.”

I raised my eyebrow at her, not used to her speaking so frankly. “Sansa, my dear, I think I’m corrupting you.”

“Yes, you’re a bad influence,” she deliberated. “How shall I punish you?”

I chuckled low as I drew her hand to my waist and steadily led her out of the crypts. “Oh, I can think of a thing or two.”

“Yes, I’m sure your clever little mind is racing right now.”

“It most certainly is,” I assured her, and swiveled around so I could be at her side once more. “One day I’ll have you do it in front of Ned’s crypt.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will,” I promised her. “And I’ll have your mouth wrapped right around my cock right in front of him.”

“There’s a line, Petyr, and your just about to cross it.”

“Sansa, sweetling, I crossed it a long time ago.”

I heard her grunt with displeasure before we finally crossed out of the shadows and stepped out into the daylight. Her arm was wrapped around my waist as we sauntered about the quiet courtyard, the people were used to seeing how affectionate we were by now. Sansa had been distant lately, but gladly things were about to change and move to my favour. I saw her glancing up at the parapets, taking in the occasional guards that walked across the towering walls of Winterfell. “Your worried,” I observed.

“I don’t know what we will do without the Vale’s army,” she conceded. “And now that Jon took the last of my soldiers up north I feel completely defenseless.”

“Things aren’t exactly in our favour,” I assented. “But we will find a way around it… we must.”

“When do you think Cersei will attack us?”

“I’m not sure.” I fidgeted with the sleeves of my coat, wishing I had a better answer than that. “I positioned guards outside of the borders and a few spies here and there, but its still not enough to get a clear answer.”

“Do you have any spies in King’s Landing?”

“Not anymore. They all left once the Sparrows took over, and I found I could invest my time better in the Vale.”

“Do you have any there?”

“No, not really.” I paused and scratched the side of my chin meditatively. “I can try and contact a few.”

“I think you should.”

“Then I will do what my wife advises.”

“You just like that, don’t you? My wife.”

“I do,” I hushed, and leaned forward to kiss her brow.

Her hand was rubbing the front of my chest affectionately when she asked, “Any spies here?”

“A few. Would you like me to write you a list?”

“Oh, that much?”

“I like to keep an eye on Varys,” I grumbled. “And he likes to keep an eye on me.”

“Then why do you still keep him around?”

“Because I need him to do something for me.”

“Like what?”

“He is so good at getting information from other people, but I want him to do the opposite. I want him to _feed_ information to the common people.”

“Like spreading a rumour?”

“Yes, except this time it’s the truth.”

“The truth?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, sweetling.” I stopped her in her tracks and turned her around to face me. She noticed the hesitation in my body language, the way I suddenly tensed up as I looked around me for any unwanted listeners. The area was empty, but I still dragged her over to an abandoned shed and looked around suspiciously before I finally revealed the truth. “I want them to know the truth about Jon Snow.”

She sat down on a barrel and eyed me curiously, never letting those penetrating eyes leave mine. “And what is the truth?”

“Your brother is a Stark,” I drawled. “But he’s a Targaryen too.”

“I don’t…” her eyebrows netted together in her perplexed state. “I thought…”

“His mother is Lyanna Stark… your aunt.”

“Then her father is…” she covered her mouth in understanding. “He raped her and then got her pregnant!”

“No, my sweet. It wasn’t like that!”

“It has to be.”

“It’s all lies! Everything is lies that they tell over and over again till they believe in it. Lyanna was taken by Rhaegar, but she…” I paused, noticing the snarl that suddenly crossed her face. “It doesn’t matter. Jon Snow’s true parents is Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, and that means he has the true claim to the Iron Throne.”

“And as much claim as I to Winterfell,” she blurted out with annoyance.

“I can see your not pleased,” I said with an inexplicable mirth.

“No, I’m not!” She pouted her lips funny and added, “Why does he have everything, when my family suffered all these years for nothing? And now, your telling me he actually has the right to be called the King of the North!”

“The birth right, then yes.”

“It’s one thing to be a bastard, but this,” she sneered, and I could tell she wasn’t taking the news very well. “I should be happy for him-”

“But you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” She caught my mischievous smirk and turned away from me, averting her gaze to the emerald ring on her wedding finger. “Why am I not happy?”

“Because you want to be the Lady of Winterfell, and Jon Snow can easily take that away.”

“He could,” she assented. “Just like Lord Robin almost took away yours.” She walked over to me with a determined step, and I could feel myself hardening under her loathsome gaze. “I don’t want that to happen,” she finally relented once she encroached upon my space.

“Then we better do everything we can to prevent that from happening.”

“Would Varys spread the rumour for us?”

“If he values his head he will?”

“You wouldn’t do that to him.”

“I might.”

She twirled a loose curl around her finger before she pinned it back in place. Her fingers trembled while she did it, so I went around her to assist her, noticing how cold her hand was when it brushed against mine. “What are you thinking?” I hushed over her shoulder.

“If the world is ready to know the truth.”

“They will have too, at some point. Think of it this way, how would Cersei react if she found out the truth?”

“She’d kill him.”

“And what would that mean for us?”

“Well, she would lose focus for awhile as she tries to target him…” she bit her lip as she turned around to face me. “She’d see us as less of a threat.”

“And?”

“It would give us time to gather our forces together.”

“And?”

“I don’t know,” she answered me with a careless shrug.

“How would Daenerys Targaryean react to the news?”

“She’d be happy, wouldn’t she?”

“Would she?” I asked and tilted my head as I raised my left eyebrow at her.

“No? Yes? I don’t know.”

“Think, Sansa.”

She fiddled with my cloak buttons as she contemplated the matter. “She would see him as a threat, or as a strengthened partnership. They are married after all, so it would be a good thing.”

“Perhaps. Will never know for certain, not unless we try.” I placed my hand over hers and rubbed the back of her hand soothingly as I remarked, “I want to see how the world will react to this news, even if I have to watch the world burn from afar.”

“Why do you think it will burn?”

“Because I’m the master of chaos, and there’s nothing I like more than to watch the world burn before my very eyes.” I kissed the back of her hand before I added, “In time, Sansa, you will too.”


	35. Reek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Theon**

“There he is,” I said in a husky voice, before I pulled the hood over my head tighter. There was a strong wind blowing off the ocean, a fair warning that a storm would hit the sands of Essos in a few hours.

“Should we go closer?” Dom asked, he leaned against the sandy brick wall and stared at the black sails flapping in the wind mornfully.

I looked around me, taking in the local people passing us by from behind. It was so difficult blending in with them, the lightness of our skin and our foreign accent was a dead give away, a fact that continually put myself and the rest of my crewman in grave danger.

“No,” I answered him. “For now we watch and plan.”

“We’ve been watching them for a god damn hour. What do you hope to see?”

“My sister.”

“She’s probably below ship being fucked senseless by some-”

I grabbed a hold of him and shoved him into the wall till he was practically leaning over the edge. Dom looked behind him and saw the perilous cliffs ready to greet him if I pushed him hard enough. “Don't talk about my sister that way,” I warned, before I pulled him back to the ground and watched him brush the sand off his clothing frustratingly.

“You grew some balls,” he jeered.

“I don't need balls to get my sister back.”

“No, you’ll need more than that.” He patted me on the shoulder and led me closer to Euron’s armada, his entire fleet stretched out across the white shore of Essos, but it was Euron’s own ship that was closest to us.

“We shouldn't get any closer,” I reminded Dom. “If we get caught-"

"Relax,” he said nonchalantly, and patted my back in a friendly manner. “We’re iron born, remember? We fear nothing- not even death.”

“For what is dead can never die,” I recanted, and saw Dom smile at me in approval.

"I know you want your sister back, but you can't do it without a fight.”

“I want to smuggle her out,” I confided. “Once night falls I’ll sneak on the ship and take her back.”

“That's a cowardly move.”

“I’m still doing it.”

“Your better off killing Euron,” Dom pointed out, as he tightened his tan coloured shawl around his rounded frame. “With 20, 000 sellswords at his command you might as well sail home now.”

“I’m not going back without Yara.”

Dom shook his head at me, the grey's in his beard shined against the sunlight. “Go home, Theon,” he urged me. “While you still can.”

I sighed and looked out at the raging sea, already the clouds we're starting to darken into an ominous hue of grey. “I’m going on that ship once it's dark- with or without you.”

“The boys will never follow you, Theon, you and I both know that. You may be Balon Greyjoy’s son but you’ll never be like us. Euron follows the old way, but what do you do?” He spat on the ground right next to my boots. “You dress like a Stark, act like a Stark-”

“I’m a Greyjoy!”

“Your a wench!” he countered. “No, your worse than that. At least a wench can get fucked.”

I looked down at the ground, feeling my old self returning again. _Reek it rhymes with meek. Reek it rhymes with weak._

“I’m not going to help you, and I hardly think the rest of your men will be happy with your plan. I'll tell you what you should do, sneak on the ship and kill Euron with your bare hands like the old way. Steal his gold, his silver, any treasure you can find. Then take back your sister and burn his ship. Only then will you gain respect from your people-”

“I don't want their respect!” I spat out. “It's Yara that is to be our Queen.”

“Some Queen,” he jeered. “She’s captured and no one is willing to save her but you.” It was just then that a line of Iron Born sailors walked down the wooden plank of Euron’s ship and was heading in our direction.

“We better go,” I rapped out, and pulled the hood over my head the second I turned my back to them.

“Take one out,” Dom said in a tempting voice. “Find out where they keep your sister.”

“Then I will have to kill him,” I sulked. Dom struck me in the side of my chest and this time it was I who was leaning over the edge of the stony wall. I whimpered at him, and that only made him look at me in disgust. “It's a miracle you lasted this long,” he sneered. “Kill one of them, or I’ll kill you.”

“Euron will notice.”

“He’s too busy fucking himself,” he rapped out, and dropped me to the ground once the men started to approach us from behind. We were silent as we felt their shadows pass us by and only when they were a few steps away from us Dom whispered, “Take the smallest one out.”

“Why him?”

“Because your weak.”

“I’m not!”

“Then prove it.” He pushed me away from him and I was left staggering on the dusty tiled ground until I regained my balance. The Iron Born sailors hardly noticed me, so I began to trail their every movements until they landed up in an ale house in the back alleys of the city. Immediately I heard the Westeros accent when I swung open the door and found myself surrounded by people. The room was packed to the wall with men, but some of them gave me a curious gaze since I was the only one in traditional Essosian garb.

“You’re in the wrong place!” one of the men shouted, he was dressed in all black with a scar running down the side of his face.

I threw down my hood and bellowed, “I’m in the right one!”

“Your from Westeros,” he observed, and beckoned me into the room. I pushed my way through the throng, inhaling the strong scent of ale and piss; these people belonged at the very bottom of Esso society, a fact proven when more than one person dipped their hands into my pocket to try and steal some change. I gave them a whimiscal smile once they realized I had nothing, and was happy when I finally took a seat next to the dangerous looking man. “Where you from?”

“The North.”

“Starks land?”

"Close enough.”

“King’s Landing. Left just before Aerys II died.”

“You missed all the fun.”

“You can say that,” he answered me, after he raised up his amber coloured pint in the air at me. “What your here for?”

“I was looking for someone.”

“First time I’ve seen you here,” he said with some suspicion. “Looking for a job?”

“Ale houses aren't my thing,” I replied as I scanned the entire room in search of the Iron Born men. “I perfer to be at sea.”

“Aye, me too.”

“Sailor?”

“Work for Euron Greyjoy now.”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly. “I’ve heard of him.”

“Greatest man that ever lived.” He took a big gulp of his beer before he slammed it down on the table beside him. “I can get you a job there if you like. I man my own ship, _The Calgen,_ the fastest ship you’ve ever seen.”

“Alright,” I said without thinking. “I’ll take it.”

“We leave tonight!” He grinned at me in a strange manner when he relayed, “We’re going home.”

“Westeros?”

"The very same. Euron wants to give his bride a special gift. We should be there a little over a month if the sea is kind.”

“The sea is never kind.”

“Aye, that's because Euron brings the storm.” He motioned to the bartender to hand him another drink before he finally took a good look at me. “What's your name?”

“Reek.”

“Captain Neil Hoster.” He lifted up his newly replenished pint and yelled out, “Welcome aboard, Reek,” before he took a long swig. “Once I finish this I’ll show you around.”

* * *

It was hours before I was able to slip away from Captain Hoster’s ship. The den were my men were sleeping was dark and unusually quiet, it took me a few minutes to stir them from their sleep and even longer for them to circle around the fire. Dom sat next to me, noticing my spotless clothes with a look of disdain. He lifted up my long yellow shawl before he barked, “You didn't kill him!”

“No. I found something better.”

“You know where she is?”

“No.”

Dom looked at the rest of my crewmen before he finally averted his gaze back to me. “We’ve been talking while you were gone, Theon. We want to go back home.”

“There’s nothing for you there.”

“No, there’s nothing for us _here._ ”

“Come with me! I can get you guys a job on one of Euron’s ships.”

“Why the hell would we do that?”

“Because we can find out where Yara is hiding,” I pointed out. “And what Euron plans to do next-”

“Spy?” Dom cut in. “You want _us_ to spy-”

I looked down at my feet, squishing a rock underneath the heel of my foot. “I want you too…”

“Spy,” Dom repeated. “We’re sailors, fighters, but we’re not spies.”

“I like Dom’s plan better,” Niam piped up. “I’d rather burn Euron’s ship to the ground.”

“Sea,” Dom reminded him.

“It's too dangerous,” I reminded them. “We’re just going to get ourselves killed.”

“How about this!” Dom shouted out with impatience. “You try your way, and we'll try ours.”

“I think…” I paused to look at the ten men that followed me from Westeros. “...we should stick together.”

“Fine.” Dom stood up, and threw on his heavy cloak that was draping the back of his chair. “We leave now! I have a boat already, small enough to go undetected-”

“We’ll get crushed,” I argued. “The storm alone will turn the boat upside down.”

“We’ll be careful!”

“This is a terrible idea,” I entreated. “And we don't have time to argue. I have to be back on Hoster’s ship within the hour.”

“Look at you!” Dom screamed as he smacked his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Heir of the Iron Island taking commands from _some_ Captain.” I stood up to challenge him but he already cut me off by yelling, “Go back to him! You pathetic little swine.” I charged at him, but this time he was ready and pinned me down on the ground with such force he took the wind out of me. “You can't even handle an old man like me- how you expect to take Euron Greyjoy down?"

I whimpered in pain and that aggravated him further. “You have no _spine,_ ” he scoffed. He let me go and ordered my men to leave the room. Over his shoulder he remarked, “We’re going to save Yara- without you. And I hope she banishes you from the Iron Island once we succeeded.” He left me after that, and I was left scrambling off the dirty floor before I ran out the rickety den and sprinted down the tiles path to make it to Hoster’s ship on time.

* * *

 All night long I watched Euron’s ship, and not once did it light up in a single flame. I clutched the edge of the ship, nails digging into the moldy wood but it was no use- his ship was pushed off the sandy bay and the next thing I knew it was leading a thousand ships back to Westeros.

The next morning I was woken by a group of sailors I shared the room with, and their happy demanor told me nothing eventful happened last night. Still, I ran up the wooden steps and stood next to a group of sellswords to look over the edge of the ship. My jaw tightened at the sight of it, all ten corpes were strung over the deck of Euron’s ship. _He hung them,_ I realized, as I watched their lifeless bodies sway in the morning breeze. _And he still has Yara._

I trembled slightly at the sight of it, Dom's pale white eyes seemed to be staring back at me. I trembled again, covering my face slightly so I couldn't look into his eyes. _Reek it rhymes with leek._

"Hey, are you alright?" a sellsword asked, after he nudged me on the shoulder.

_Reek it rhymes with sneak._

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lied.

The man stepped closer and eyed me with concern. "You don't look so well. Sea sick?"

_Reek it rhymes with weak._

"No, I'm- I'm..."

He took a step back now, concerned for his own well-being. "I think you should go," he warned, and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword just in case.

I trembled violently as I walked away, taking the ends of my sleeves in the palm of my hand with agitation. I could feel the man and his companions watching me, wondering what made me tremble like a leaf; there hushed whispers carried in the wind and I knew by this time tomorrow everyone would avoid me.

 _Reek it rhymes with freak,_ I thought, before I shut my cabin door behind me.


	36. Our World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Cersei**

It was Qyburn that raised his hand in the air entreatingly before he said, “There is still time to remedy the situation. Your grace, _all_ is not lost-”

“It is,” I confessed in front of my small council. Qyburn was nervously fidgeting on my right, but Brayden unabashedly looked at me with a steady gaze. “Lord Brayden, you are very quiet.”

“I was thinking,” he murmured. He smoothed over his moustache that he had been growing over the past month. A Lordship had most certainly changed him, but not entirely for the better.

“What would you have me do?” I inquired, feeling absolutely lost after the sudden news we received this afternoon.

“What can we do?” he asked with a small shrug of his shoulders. “The people of the Eyrie joined together to besiege what’s left of the Vale to subvert Lord Robin and they _succeeded._ A new leader has arisen, stronger than ever before! And he has no desire to serve you.”

“He will serve me,” I openly declared. “Or he’ll lose more than his head.”

“By all accounts, Harrold Hardyng is brash, arrogant and unpredictable,” Lord Brayden explained. “You threatening to take off his head makes no difference to him.” Brayden ignored my roll of the eyes and continued, “You said yourself, your Grace, that _more_ than half of the Vale councilmen support Hardyng. They made it quite clear that they want him as their leader. Not even Lord Robin’s tragic death can change that, and if that doesn’t make them second guess Hardyng as their leader, what will?”

“All this talk and no solutions!” Qyburn grumbled, clearly irritated that he was called in for a council meeting for the second time today. “We are just going around in circles.”

“I haven’t heard you put anything in,” Lord Brayden shot back.

“The answer is simple!” I yelled out to get their attention. “Violence is my answer.”

“Are you proposing to attack the Eyrie with the Golden Company as well?” Lord Brayden asked with a look of surprise.

“I am.”

“Your grace,” he cautiously said. He leaned into my space further, his knee barely touching mine under the table as he warned, “By the time your army reaches Winterfell the roads will be impenetrable, the weather intolerable, and your men will be lethargic with dissipation.”

“Do you enjoy using big words, Lord Brayden?”

“No, I-”

“Then stop it!” I snapped. “You would think your making up for something.”

He blushed suddenly, swallowing hard under my hateful stare. “We all know how clever you are, Brayden, you don’t have to announce it to the room.”

“I apologize, your-”

“Just don’t do it again,” I remonstrated. I turned my gaze to Qyburn and saw a whimsical smile play upon his face. “And you! I don’t know what your smiling about, Qyburn. Your just as useless!” The room fell into a deathly silence, and only then did I smile triumphantly at the two of them. “Now! The Golden Company are known for their loyalty. They will _not_ fail me. They will take down Hardyng and his followers-”

“But that will only add to the chaos!” Lord Brayden interjected. “Without a leader, who knows who will take Hardyng’s place?”

“Someone that supports the Queen.”

“And how will you do that? If you haven’t noticed, we are a long way from-”

“You forget who you are addressing!” I snapped. He bit down on his lip in fury, clearly annoyed that I called him out again. “You speak to freely with me.”

“I was only trying to-”

“Enough!” I shouted. “You may be an able councilmen, but you do not speak to me that way. Is that understood?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“And Qyburn,” I added, before I turned my steely gaze to him. “Have something to say in these meetings, or don’t come at all.”

“Yes, your Grace,” he said lightly.

“Once the Golden Cloaks arrive I shall send them to the Vale. After that, they will go north and attack Winterfell.” I paused to look at their two sullen faces before I continued, “That is _my_ decision, and my decision is final. The both of you are dismissed.”

Qyburn gathered his things to leave, but Lord Brayden crossed his legs casually and remained in his seat much to my displeasure. I turned my head to ensure The Mountain was still behind me, before I settled my gaze back to the handsome man that sat too close beside me. He was looking at me intently, and I did not like the way those bright blue eyes finally settled on my lips.

“Forgive me,” he quietly said. “I would never wish to displease you.”

“You speak to freely, Lord Brayden.”

“I apologize again for that,” he said in a deep voice, his eyes blinking slowly as he looked at me. “I will try to curb my tongue in future.”

“Its more than your tongue you need to curb,” I said without thinking.

“Your Grace?” he asked, and the sentimental tone of his voice made me push back my chair and stand to my feet. “Have I offended you in some way?”

He stood to his feet as well, and immediately towered over me, a thing that aggravated me further. “You are not my equal,” I reminded him. “You are a Lord, but that’s as far as you go.”

“I did not ask for it.”

“No, but you deserved it,” I admitted. “Without you we wouldn’t have resolved the grain crises so quickly.”

“I am only happy to serve you.”

“So, you’ve told me before,” I said with suspicion. “Why did you not leave when I dismissed you both?”

“I wanted to ask after the baby.” I looked down and laid my hand over my stomach, quite forgetting a child was there for a moment. _I’m not ready,_ I thought, _what kind of kingdom will it be by the time my child is here?_ “It is fairly visible now.”

“Yes, it is becoming difficult to hide.”

“You shouldn’t hide it,” he softly said. He took a step forward, and leaned against the side of the table before he asked, “How do you feel?”

“I am fine.”

“I’m worried that everything will take a toll on the child.” His fingers danced along the back of the chair as he contemplated, “I only wish you didn’t share this burden alone.”

“I won’t. I will have a husband soon, remember?”

“I remember.”

“And you didn’t harm the child, if that’s what your worried about.”

“I had considered it,” he admitted. “You never asked me back, so what was I to think?”

“Things would only get complicated if we continued.”

“I agree.”

“And yet, you look at me…” I cut myself off once I remembered The Mountain was still in the room. I looked at the harrowing figure in the corner of my eye, and Lord Brayden instinctively followed my stealthy gaze. “I am going back to my quarters. Would you like to accompany me, Lord Brayden?”

“It would be an honour, your Grace,” he said in a smooth voice, and offered his arm for I to take. There was some reluctance when I slipped mine through his, especially since I told him only a few minutes ago that we were not equals, but now my own words betrayed me as I found myself leaning into his tall frame.

“How do I look at you?” he whispered, once we were in the dimly lit hallways. The Mountain was a few feet away, so we could finally talk amongst ourselves without him overhearing.

“You know perfectly well how you look at me.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Does it displease you?” he asked, as he rubbed his hand over his moustache again. _It fits him,_ I thought, as the corner of my eye caught his subtle movements.

“The only thing that displeases me is you calling me “Your, Grace,” every chance you get.”

“You are sending me mixed signals,” he mused. “I thought you just said I wasn’t your equal.”

“I know what I said,” I shot back.

“What would you rather me call you?”

“You know perfectly well what I wish.”

“Wish?” he repeated. “No, not with you.”

“I expected more from you,” I countered, after we turned down the main hallway, and took the narrow stretch that would inevitably lead to my room.

“Does that mean you think highly of me?” he teased, before he pulled me into his frame further.

“To a certain degree, I do.”

“You have payed me the highest compliment, your Grace.”

“You think that’s the highest?” I said while arching my eyebrows at him.

“Have you something better in mind?” he drawled, and his eyes elated with expectation as he looked at me.

I looked away from him, feigning cold indifference for my own pleasure. _This pregnancy is making me_ _horny,_ I realized, and felt it was best to change the topic before I took it too far. “I don’t understand, a month ago everything was in our favour, and now…” Lord Brayden leaned back his head to get a good look at me, clearly confused where this was going. “We are losing all our allies,” I explained. “First there was the Freys, and now Lord Robin is dead.”

“Yes,” he quietly said. “We lost the grain as well.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I hardly think Hardyng will give them up so easily.”

I sighed and looked away from him again. “It’s just one problem after another.”

“I have heard in the marketplace that Dorne is also growing restless without a leader. Now, that all of the Sand snakes are gone, there is no leader.”

“Not all,” I confessed, and that earned me a suspicious look. “Elleria Sand is still alive… if you can call it that.”

“I thought you killed her?”

“I just wanted everyone to believe that,” I said with a disturbing smile. “The Mountain visits her every night. She may want death, but she will never taste it.”

“I see,” he breathed, and I noticed how pale his face had become when he finally looked at me.

“You disapprove?”

“No, I could never disapprove of you. I just… don’t have the stomach for it.”

“And that is why I rule the Seven Kingdoms, and you don’t.” I stopped in front of my door and took a deliberate stepped away from him until my back was leaning against the door. “This is where we say goodbye, Lord Brayden.”

He bowed low with a curious smile, and I could have sworn that smile was for me. “May you have pleasant dreams, your Grace,” he said lightly, and gave me one last look before he turned away.

* * *

It was only a few hours later when I called Lord Brayden into my chamber room. There was a look of surprise on his face when I opened the door for him and ordered him to come inside. He was dressed in his night robe and his short hair was tangled and sticking up on its end. It was clear I had just woken him up, and he had every intention to go back to bed once I was done.

“Is there something the matter?” he asked after I locked the door behind him. “Have you gotten another letter?’

“No.” I wandered into my room further and settled at the foot of my bed, hoping he could get my meaning.

“Is the baby-”

“No.”

He stood just in front of the closed door, his hands interlaced together behind his back as he stood there as still as a statue. He looked at me quizzically, his eyebrow arched with suspicion as he tried to put the dots together. “I fail to understand-”

“Clearly.”

He took long strides across the room, circling around my writing desk scanning the papers but he would find nothing to satisfy his curiosity there. He looked up at me after a while and noticed my bed robe was half off my shoulders revealing the the see-through dress I was wearing underneath. He swallowed hard and took a step back, uncertain how he should proceed.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I explained. “I thought you could keep me warm tonight.”

“And what made you change your mind?” he asked with scepticism.

“I was cold.”

“Then perhaps you need a bigger fire,” he said matter of factly, and cut his eye at the flapping flames that glowed in my fireplace.

“The only fire I need is here,” I breathed, and separated my legs so he could fully understand.

“Oh.”

“Will you keep me warm?” I asked in a husky voice, the lion in me was ready to come out. He felt it in my unwavering gaze, and with slow movements he circled the last of his desk before he came towards me. There was a brief hesitation before he untied his robe and laid it on the side of the bed beside me, his hand reached for mine and lifted me to my feet, so I could face him. He curled his fingers through my light blonde hair, caressing the side of my head tenderly. He leaned slowly, and kissed me lightly, it felt like a breath of fresh air. _Jamie never kissed me like this,_ I thought, as his lips captured mine again and again. Lord Brayden was delicate with me, but I wanted to pull out his aggressive side, I wanted to see the wild fiery side to him. I glided a hand down his firm chest, and let it trail lower until I stuffed it inside his pants and grabbed at what I wanted most.

“Oooh,” he mouthed, and looked down to see my hand deep into his pants. His gasped suddenly once I began to stroke it, a sudden fire flashed through his blue eyes and I just knew I awakened the beast. “Cersei,” he hushed, and his entire bottom jaw shifted to the side with desire.

“Bray,” I teased, and slammed my lips against his own to show him how I truly wanted to be kissed. I was stroking him vigorously meanwhile, hearing him moan with pleasure against my lips. His hands were piercing the side of his hips, steering me closer to the bed, and I gladly leveled myself on my furry sheets while my hand tightly remained on his crotch. He leaned against me once I fell into the bed, and I forced my hand out to grab at his robe and push it off his shoulders. Brayden was kissing the side of my face aggressively all the while, his wet lips smearing my cold cheeks until they were as hot as I felt inside. “Take it off,” I urged, as I wrestled with his shirt.

“Gladly,” he said in a deep, raspy voice. He straddled me happily, before he pulled his grey shirt off his muscular form. I trailed my fingers across his broad, bulging chest and felt myself drooling at his sumptuous form. _How did I manage to give this up,_ I thought, as my hands rubbed across his chiseled abs. He watched me with pleasure, and a small laugh escaped him once he realized I saw what I liked.

I leaned forward and kissed his tightened chest while both of my hands dug into his pants with eagerness. He made a sound with gritted teeth when I wrapped both hands around him this time, a long exhale escaped him once I began to work my way down to his tip. “I want it hard,” I said in a sultry voice.

“It already is,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Harder,” I breathed into his stomach, and felt him trembling from the force I was applying to him. He grinded himself against me, as my hands quickly flew up and down his hardened cock. He huffed, and suddenly fell on top of me with a mad rage as he tried to align himself with me. “Quick,” I moaned, once I pulled my hands out of his pants and pulled it down just enough to see it.

He grunted, a sound I never heard from him before as he tore down the rest of his pants and tossed it across the room in a violent gesture. The next thing I knew, he was thrusting himself inside of me, pushing his way as deep as he could as I let out a satisfied shrill. He accidently bit down the side of my neck, completely taken over by the sensations to think anything through.

“Be like a lion,” I grunted, as I handled his hard ass in a punishing manner. I pulled him closer to me, wanting him as deep inside of me as he could. A loud moan escaped me, as he rode me at a staggering pace, the very bed rocked violently beneath us.

“Your baby,” he said suddenly, and stopped once he realized what he was doing. “What have I done?”

“No, its fine.” I pulled him back, wanting him to keep up what he was just doing to me. “You won’t hurt it.”

“You don’t know that,” he answered back, after he placed both hands on either side of the bed to stare down at me. “This was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I assured him, and cupped his cheeks so he would believe me. “You were doing amazing.”

A small escaped him as he looked down at me. “I love you, Cersei.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I simply dragged my hot fingers down the side of his cheek. I leaned forward and kissed the side of his moustache before I settled for his lips. My tongue slipped inside of his, a thing that shocked him at first, but the more I did it the more he got used to the idea. He began to push himself into me again, unintentionally so, a thing I encouraged as my hands gripped at his ass to grind Brayden harder against me.

I was in love with his body, the way it felt beneath my fingertips. I liked his scent, the way he kissed me, that dark look in his eye as he looked down at me. I paused to lick around the outside of his lips, and he blinked at me with surprise. He didn’t know what to do, poor thing, but I would show him what he’s been missing all along. “Roll over,” I commanded, and he did so willingly. He watched me as I settled on top of him, his hands instinctively covered over my large ass. “I don’t want to play nice anymore.”

“Your child,” he reminded me. I kissed him in reply, letting it last until he was out of breath. As he tried to catch his breath, I eased myself inside of him just how I wanted it. I let out a high-pitch scream as I rocked myself against him, and he watched me with amazement before he leaned in to kiss my lips desperately. My nails grinded against the sides of his waist as I pulled myself higher, trying to peak without damaging the baby. I hit it and held the orgasm for as long as I could before I finally fell on top of him with relish. He sensed how tired I was, so he rolled me over, so he could kiss the entire front of my body, finally paying attention to my breasts. His mouth covered the whole of my nipple, sucking it until it hardened from his prodding tongue. “Cersei,” he said for no reason at all, a strange silence fell upon us as he looked at me in between laboured breaths.

“Bray,” I breathed, and ran my finger across his moustache playfully. “You did good.”

“I live to serve my Queen.”

“And you did it well,” I replied, after he placed his lip in between the center of my chest. He was kissing his way upwards, feeling my smooth skin until he reached my neck. “You can kiss me harder there,” I told him, and gripped at his ass the second I felt his teeth graze my sensitive skin. His moustache tickled me, but I found it oddly arousing. _I’m so happy I asked him to bed,_ I thought, and grinded him against him against me just in case he wanted to do it again. He made a small whimpering noise in disbelief and let his lips waver away from my neck, so he could look at me.

“Cersei, I don’t want to risk it again,” he said with concern.

“Do I have to order you, Lord Brayden?”

“No,” he said with some uncertainty.

“It sounds like it,” I noted, after I played with his thick brown locks.

“Cersei,” he said again, but this time it was quieter. “I want you to want me.”

“Oh, I do,” I assured him, and grinded him against me again so he could get the point.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean…” he paused and took my hands off his ass, so I could pay attention. “More than just this.”

I had a feeling where this conversation was heading, but I honestly just wanted him to fuck me again. My lips curled into a devious smile before I rolled him over slowly and worked my way up his hardened cock to get the high I was looking for. His head rested on the pillow as he watched me reluctantly, a sad smile slowly came upon his face as he knew exactly what I was doing. “You won’t get what you’re looking for that way,” he said matter of factly.

“I can try,” I retorted, as I rocked myself against him harder.

“You’ll only hurt your child that way.”

“You think it was your child,” I spat out.

“I only wish it was.”

I stopped and stared at him with a wide-eyed expression. “Yours?” I yelled, quite forgetting how close our faces was.

“Yes.”

“But _why?_ ”

“I just do,” he said softly, and those blue eyes grew sadder.

“Bray,” I cooed. “You know its Jamie’s.”

“I know.” His mouth twisted to the side as he contemplated something inside of his head. “It could be _ours_ as well.”

“No,” I said without thinking. “It could never be that way.”

“I think it could,” he said lightly, and his hand rested on the side of my shoulder affectionately.

“It’s Jamie’s.” I shook my head at him slowly. “It’s the only thing I have of him left.”

“I understand.”

“Can you just fuck me, and not talk about it anymore.”

“If that is what my Queen commands.”

“She does,” I said woodenly, and waited for him to roll me over and settle a pillow underneath my head before I finally wrapped my arms around his neck. “Do it.”

The lids of his eyes closed mournfully, before he thrust himself into me again. A loud cry escaped me, but this time he didn’t cover it with his kisses- no, he just fucked me with cold indifference, a detachment that was not like his usual self. I lifted my head to kiss him, but he tilted his head to the side and only let me kiss his cheek. “Brayden!” I scolded, and he turned his head, so I could kiss him, but those lips were so unmoving I might as well be kissing a statue. I forced his mouth open with my tongue, and he accepted it, but his own tongue laid flat at the bottom of his mouth unwillingly to move. “Bray,” I chided, once I moved my lips away from him. “You’re not doing it right.”

“Then perhaps, you should get Jamie to do it.”

“That’s it! Get out,” I shouted, and motioned him to move himself from me. He pulled himself out and tried to not get his seed all over me, cleaning himself off with a nearby blanket. I watched that ass move away from me reluctantly, and once it was covered with his pants I wondered if I made a mistake. “Your angry with me,” I observed. “But I can’t share my child with you.”

“Its not just your child,” he said, as he threw on his shirt. “Its your world.”

“You want me to marry you, instead of Euron.”

“Yes,” he barked.

“Well, I can’t do that.”

“I hope he fucks you as hard as you want,” he said bitterly, as he pulled down his shirt, covering the last of his exposed skin.

“Your just jealous.”

“No, I’m angry.” He walked past me to retrieve his night robe, but I stopped him by laying a hand on one side of his shoulder. “You know I love you,” he exclaimed. “And you don’t care!”

“Bray,” I pleaded, and was surprised to hear the emotion betrayed in my voice. “I don’t know if I think of you that way.”

“But your so quick to marry Euron.”

“I need his ships.”

“And what does he need from you? The crown.” He pointed at the top of my head and added, “He won’t wait long to take it from you.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it?” he sneered and walked past me to pick up his robe. He threw it on in a careless manner, and without another look at me he made his way to the door.

“Bray,” I called out. “Stay with me.”

“Why? Isn’t that what your husband is for?”

“I want you to stay with me.”

His hand pulled the door knob up and down pensively, his eyes directed to the mahogany coloured door in front of him. “Will you arrest me if I leave you now?”

“No.”

“Will you kill me?”

“No, Brayden.”

“Then I’m leaving.” He paused to look over his shoulder and in the sharpest tone he said, “Goodnight, your Grace.”


	37. Petyr's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

“Sansa, my dear,” Petyr merrily said as he rolled up a scroll sprawled out across the Maester’s desk. “What brings you here?”

I took a step forward into the room, noticing the rows of open letters displayed upon the charcoal coloured desk. I leaned over the table and let my delicate fingers curl around the top left corner of the page to lift it into the air. “They are all addressed to the Vale,” I observed.

“Lord Robin to be precise.”

“What are you-”

“-looking for?” he interjected and shot me that devilish grin that made the lines around his eyes crinkle. “Something that puzzles me exceedingly.”

I went around the table and watched him roll up the last of the scroll in his hands. _He makes it look like he never opened it at all,_ I thought with amazement, as he set it back in the drawer where it belonged. “You know you should lock the door,” I reminded him.

“What would I do without my clever wife,” he quipped, and laid a kiss on the side of my cheek. I felt him breathe me, the way his lips lingered on the side of my cheek before he ducked his head into my loose tresses. “How did you find me here?”

“I just know you,” I simply answered, and felt a warm sensation as his long arm wrapped around my shivering frame.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he remarked, after he leaned himself against the desk to get a better look at me. “I had to come here to see if my theory is true.”

“Theory?” I said with a smile just as devious as his own. “Do tell.”

“Your brother mentioned that someone would betray you,” he reminded me. “I intend to find out who?” He faced his body to the desk again, leaning the palms of his hand on either side of the desk to look down at the remaining letters. “I don’t know how they will do it… or when… but I will find them, and when I do…”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing myself forward until I was practically on top of them. “They will face the consequence,” I stated clearly, it was the voice of the Lady of Winterfell that condemned their sentence.

“They will wish they never crossed me.”

“What are you looking for?” I asked, as I noticed the way his fingers hovered over each letter as he quickly scanned them for clues.

“I never had the chance to tell Lord Robin about our marriage,” he stated. “Only a week afterwards, once the storms died down and I could send a raven over.” He laid a hand over the smooth parchment as he added, “But someone did.”

“It could have been anyone.”

“Exactly.” He raised himself off the desk, and yet his eyes remained fixed on the letters. “But someone said enough to anger Lord Robin, enough for him to call back his knights and threaten to take away my Lordship.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I think we have someone in these walls that wants to destroy us,” he darkly mused, and I sensed rather than saw a disturbed look flicker across his face. “Everyone’s your friend-”

“Everyone’s your enemy,” I concluded. “So, who is the enemy? Who wanted us to lose the Vale army?”

“Varys?” he offered. “Tyrion?”

“Possibly.”

“I expect someone else more… indiscreet,” he said in a raspy voice. “Someone we least expect.”

“How will we find them?”

“I had hoped I’d find the answer in these old letters, all addressed around the time we were married. Unfortunately, there is nothing here. I must try another avenue…” he paused, and I watched the way he tilted his head to the side as those eyes narrowed off into the distance. “I will see if my spies noticed anything of interest.”

“Have you heard from the ones in the Vale?” I inquired. I leaned off Petyr now, so he could roll up the series of scrolls in his own surreptitious manner.

“Only that things are finally going our way.” The corner of his mouth curled upwards as he looked away from me. “I have been the demise of all the Arryns it seems.”

“The demise?” I asked with uneasiness. “Petyr, what do you mean by that?”

“Only that I have been the cause of Jon, Lysa and now Sweet Robin’s death,” he mused, and the smile grew wider the more he thought about it.

“Petyr,” I scowled. “What have you done?”

“I found an alliance with Harrold Hardyng more profitable,” he explained, as he went around the table with rolled up scrolls in his hand. “One that would benefit both of our houses.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Robin?” he laughed. “Oh, yes, my sweet. Quite _dead._ ” He placed the scrolls in their assigned places, ensuring there was not a crease in the folds before he closed the drawer and locked it up with a key.

“Why do you have the Maester’s key?”

“I have every key,” he professed with an indifferent air. “I am the Lord of Winterfell, after all.” He leaned against the other side of the desk, casting me a lustful look that didn’t exactly please me. “You disapprove?” he asked after I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You killed him,” I said in a condescending tone.

“Harrold did,” he quipped. “A most painful way too. A warhammer crushing that poor boy’s skull must have been excruciating.”

I made a tsking sound as I leaned away from the empty desk. Petyr in turn leaned against the desk further in open invitation, his arms spread out across the ends to show just how long this desk truly was. “He was my cousin,” I reminded him.

“And my son, technically speaking. However, short my marriage was to Lysa, I was his guardian.” He chuckled under his breath, while he trailed his index finger back and forth across the desk. “He was not my true son,” he contemplated aloud. “Our son shall be treated quite differently.” It was only then that his gaze went downward to the small bump that could be seen through my sky-blue nightgown.

“Why do you think it is a son?” I asked, after I laid both of my hand on top of my stomach.

“Because I was an only child,” he explained. His hands neglected the desk and was soon reaching across the desk for my own. “And if my seed is as strong as I think it is,” he teased. “I think we may have a son.”

“Not a girl?” I sadly said.

“It could go both ways, my love,” he hushed, once my hands was placed into his own. “Only time will tell.” He offered me one of his rare smiles, the one that showed how truly happy he was. “I have something to show you,” he whispered, and maintained his grip on my hands as he went around the table to join my side. “Come with me,” he urged, and with that he lead me out of the room backwards while his eyes remained on mine.

Once we were out into the hallway, Petyr led me to my chambers to throw on a thick woolen cloak. “Leave your nightgown on,” he entreated, and I saw a mischievous look in his eyes. “Just in case.”

“What are you up too?” I asked him, as he offered me his arm to lead me out the room.

“You should know me well enough to know the answer to that.”

I shook my head at him, which earned me a hearty laugh that made his eyes lighten up a bit. He made sure he was composed before he swung open our chamber door and led me down the fully lit hall past a few of our guest chambers. “I don’t like this place,” I noted, once we passed by the former rooms belonging to Rob, Bran and Rickon. “Too many memories.”

“This house was once full of children,” he noted. “I intend for that to happen again.”

“Petyr, can we go someplace else,” I pleaded, after we passed my own room.

He offered me a kiss at the side of my cheek and comfortingly said, “The past is the past, Sansa.”

“I know.”

“Then you know what you must do,” he chided. “Think of _our_ future together.”

He walked past Arya’s room, and only then opened a door I scarcely remembered, to see the room fully alighted by the sunlight and it was there that I saw a nursery bed. I stepped forward and picked up the few children’s toys and smiled at the sight of a furry Direwolf that brought back memories from long ago. “My brothers toys,” I noted, and pressed the Direwolf close to my chest. “And Arya’s. Where did you find them?”

“If one knows where to look, it isn’t so hard to find.”

I went over to him and hugged him tightly, kissing him with new-found gratitude. “Thank you, Petyr,” I breathed, in between a kiss. His hands wrapped around my hips, so he could pull me closer, and I inhaled that familiar scent of pine and mint. His lips were soft this morning, his breath fresh and I just knew he had planned this moment all along. “You want me to thank you, don’t you?”

“I won’t object,” he laughed, and gave me that knowingly look that said everything.

“I want to see more first,” I relayed, and broke out of his grip to look at the toys and then the newly sown blanket of a Direwolf and a mockingbird against the background of Weirwood trees.

“I want him to learn about both of our houses,” he explained. “To know that I came from nothing, and not be ashamed by it.”

“And he will,” I assured him. “Or she will.”

“Yes, of course,” he laughed behind me, and those eager hands enraptured my frame again. “Do you like it, my sweet?”

“Oh, is that your pin?” I exclaimed, as I saw it inside of a jewelry bowl, where a few other precious ornaments were stored.

“I want them to wear it proudly.”

“You planned everything out, didn’t you?”

“I believe so,” he hushed into my ear, and decorated my cheeks with playful kisses. “A few more months and they’ll be here.”

I felt his hand wander downwards and cup the swell at the bottom of my stomach. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Not really. Have you?”

“No,” I grievously said. “How about Ned?”

He laughed against the back of my neck,” making my hair blow forwards. “Ned!” he exclaimed, and I heard his tongue clicking as he moved away from me. “No, that would never do.”

“Robb?”

He shook his head at me mournfully. “I hope we won’t have a fight about this?”

“No,” I answered him honestly. “I’ll let you decide.”

“Okay,” he quietly said, and stepped into my space so he could kiss me open mouthed. _As if he hasn’t had his fill from last night,_ I pondered, and let him kiss me a little bit more before I took a step back. “What does my sweet wife have to say now?” he grumbled, after he noted the space between us.

“Jon.”

“What about him?” He tilted his head meditatively and looked up at the ceiling when he soberly inquired, “Please, don’t tell me you want to name our son after your half-brother.”

“No,” I drawled. “What do you think of everyone’s reaction? How they are taking the news?”

“That’s he is a Targaryen?”

“Yes.”

“Better than I expected. Unfortunately, the news is not traveling fast enough for my liking.”

“The Northerns are not happy.”

“No,” he said in a deep raspy voice. There was a cunning look in his eyes as he noted, “They’re not.” He took a step forward with his hands in the air, it was the voice of Littlefinger that addressed me now. “Have you invited the Northern Lords to Winterfell like I asked you too.”

“I did.” He licked the bottom of his lip unconsciously, as his hands fell down to rest on the tops of my shoulders. “I don’t know what you hope to gain from it.”

“For them to see how truly strong House Stark is,” he replied in a smooth voice. “And how it is you who is the _true_ leader- not me.”

“I thought we work together!”

“Oh, we do,” he cooed. “But we mustn’t let the world think that. I am a dangerous man, remember? And they are weary of a former Whoremonger and moneylender sitting on House Stark’s reverend chair.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“Make sure everyone thinks that you are in control. Let them think that you married me for purely _political_ reasons. It would not bode well for either of us to see how truly compatible we are.”

“Why not?” I sulked, as I inched my face towards his own.

“Because you and I together is a very dangerous…” he paused to kiss me. “Very, very dangerous pair.” He kissed me fully now, pressing his entire body against me as his hands worked at the clasps of my winter coat. The fur coat fell to the floor suddenly and I felt his hot hands glide across the front of my dress eagerly, wanting to tear it off without a second thought. “And our child,” he whispered against my cheeks, his hot breath spreading across my once pale skin. “Our child will be the most dangerous of all.”

“Why?” I breathed, once I felt his hands ball up the sides of my dress, so he could pull it off.

“Because if I have my way he will sit on the Iron Throne,” he drawled in a purely seductive voice, it was enough for me to undress him quickly, so I could make love to him right there on the floor.

 


	38. Shift in Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Cersei**

“Where is he?” I demanded of Qyburn the moment he stepped into the Council room.

He paused in front of the doorway, the towering figure of the Mountain just beside him. “Lord Brayden?” he asked with suspicion. “He is not here already?”

“You and I both know the answer to that,” I spat out spitefully. “He should be here by now.”

“He may be late-”

“No,” I sneered. “Brayden is _never_ late.”

I was getting out of my seat when Qyburn suggested, “He could be ill, your Grace.”

“He’s not,” I assured him, knowing fully well why he was not at our council meeting today. “This meeting is adjourned until the ‘morrow.”

He bowed at me as I passed by him, but I ignored him and motioned for the Mountain to follow me. His footsteps echoed through out the empty hallway, it was morning still, but no one else seemed to be around. _How lively and full this all used to be,_ I meditated, and now that I am Queen there is nothing but a deathly silence. I walked past the open constructed area, not minding my black dress dragging across the snowy ground at all. I didn’t mind the snow, it was the cold that I hated more than anything else. I drew the black coat over my blonde tresses, and found I looked unrecognizably dreary as I caught my own reflection on the icy ground beneath my feet. Thankfully, Brayden’s quarters were not far from mine, and soon enough I was standing outside his door, contemplating whether I should bring the Mountain in with me. “Stay here,” I ordered, and with that I knocked on the door and waited for Brayden to open it.

He opened the door solemnly, taking in my dark appearance before he stepped to the side and let me pass through. “You do not bow to your Queen,” I observed. He offered me no reply as I pushed back my hood, so I repeated the question again but this time in was in the sharpest of tones.

“Forgive me, your Grace,” he stiffly said, and offered me half a bow.

“Close the door, Lord Brayden,” I commanded, and when it was fully closed I went over to his desk where half a bottle of wine had already been consumed, a full glass of wine was next to it, so I lifted it up and took a sip of it. _Bitter,_ I thought, and lowered it away from my face. “I hope you have a good explanation.”

“I would like to resign.”

“You wish to leave me,” I countered. “Because I will not have you.” I took another sip of his cheap wine while I took in him in; his navy-blue tunic was half opened, showing that well-toned chest that I was just aching to run my fingers across. I took a long sip of his wine this time and looked away from him for my own well-being. “I can’t give you what you want,” I uttered over his cup.” I turned my gaze back to him and lightly sipped on the overindulgent floral tasting wine before I added, “You know that as well as I.” Lord Brayden blinked at me slowly, his eyes never leaving me as I concluded, “I think you should leave now.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I do.”

“Its _him,_ isn’t it? That stands in our way.”

“A person like me could never be with someone like you,” I pointed out, and set the goblet down on the table so I could walk out of his room.

“You could, you know?” he insinuated as I was almost out the door.

“I could… but I won’t.”

“He will never love you, Cersei,” he retaliated. “And he will not accept your child.”

“He will,” I answered him. “If I commanded him.”

“Tell me,” he insisted, as he walked in my direction at a leisurely pace. The smell of wine was on his breath as he stood just in front of me, his eyes half-closed as he took me in. “When you marry Euron Greyjoy who do you think will _really_ be in control.”

“I will,” I boasted with a confident air.

“Only a Lannister would say that,” he scoffed. “You think too much of yourselves.”

I half closed the door behind me, not wanting the Mountain to observe our conversation any further. “How dare you insult my House,” I hissed, as my hazel eyes darkened under my hateful glare.

“It is your pride, Cersei, that will be your downfall.”

“And it is your tongue that will be yours!”

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Don’t marry that man.”

“And marry you,” I jeered.

“Yes,” he breathed, and took a step into my space. “If you will have me.”

I bit down on my tongue, feeling the heat of his gaze was breaking my resolve. “Euron has a thousand ships and the Golden Company. What do you have?”

“Your heart,” he simply replied. “And mine, if you will take it.”

“I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” I stated. “I could never marry you.”

“Then don’t,” he implored. His face was inches away as he whispered, “Have me… all of me. We needn’t ever marry. I’ve done all that before, remember?”

“Your wife,” I agreed with a slight nod of my head.

“I lost the love of my life,” he hushed in the gentlest of tones. “Don’t let me _lose_ another.”

“Brayden,” I breathed, as I licked at my bottom lips.

“Yes,” he answered me, as his hand wove upwards to press against the side of my cheek.

“I…”

“Tell me you want me to stay,” he entreated. “Tell me, you want me.”

“I do, but…”

“Don’t hesitate,” he protested. “Just say _yes._ ”

His lips were just hovering over mine, before I pulled my face back. “I am a lion,” I confessed. “And a lion does not belong to the likes of you.”

“A lion,” he echoed. There was a look of regret when he concluded, “And is that the reason you slept with Jamie?”

“No,” I replied with a leveled gaze. “It was because I only ever felt _whole_ when I was inside him.”

“And what about me?” he asked, once he noticed I was already stepping backwards towards the door. “What did you feel with me?”

“Weak,” I answered him, and moved further away from him for both our sakes. “And vulnerable… I can never be with someone who makes me feel that way.”

“Then I feel sorry for you,” he drawled in a deep voice, making a small shiver run down my spine.

“You are to leave tonight,” I instructed him with an air of finality. “Your title and land will still be intact as a thank you for your services to the Crown.”

He looked at the ground as he muttered, “You already know none of that is important to me, Cersei. The only thing that matters to me, is _you._ ”

I looked at him one last time, taking in the softness of those azure blue eyes before I turned to leave him for good.

* * *

The Queen’s Council was non-existent now, only the droning murmurs of Qyburn reading off another letter was his sole contribution to our meeting. A month has passed, and I still thought of Brayden, but my fate was sealed: Euron Greyjoy and his armada would be here within the week if the rumours were true.

“We are having trouble with the grain crisis again,” Qyburn prompted after another lengthily silence on my end. “Hardyng is determined to cut off all our trading routes, and those living along the Riverlands are not hesitating to join him.”

“Where is Jamie when you need him?”

“Your Grace?”

“I will be sure to send the Golden Company to the Eyrie first,” I surmised. “Anything else?”

“What shall we do about the grain?” he asked, as he laid down another letter from some insignificant lord.

“Let the people starve.”

“People are already leaving King’s Landing in large numbers,” Qyburn pointed out. “Do you want them to starve as well?”

“Less people means more food supply, or haven’t you worked that out already.”

He bit on his bottom lip and looked up at the Mountain, a thing he seemed to be doing a lot lately now that I think about it. “Is something troubling you, Qyburn?”

“No, not at all.”

“If you have anything to say, then do so now.”

“I only wish Lord Brayden didn’t have to leave,” he pursued. “He always knew what to do.”

“So, did Littlefinger, but you see I am able to manage well.”

“I heard Lady Baelish is with child,” he informed me, although I had already heard the news a few days ago.

“It is nothing of consequence,” I lied. “Just one more person the Golden Company will have to kill.”

Qyburn cracked his knuckles nervously, a thing that showed me he wasn’t entirely pleased by my plan. “You think the Golden Company will be able to wipe out _all_ of your enemies.”

“I do,” I assured him. “And hopefully they will have enough energy to kill Jon Snow- no, Jon Targaryen as well.”

“Last I heard he is surrounded by an army,” Qyburn beseeched. “And dragons.”

“Two dragons are no match for my army.”

Qyburn pursed his lips, and then let it settle into a sad smile. “Violence isn’t always the answer, your Grace.”

“Says the one who had his little birds kill Pycelle. Oh yes, I heard about that! Nothing escapes me.”

“I would not doubt it for a second,” he cleverly replied, and it was only then that I remembered the warnings my brother gave about Qyburn. _Have I no friends around me,_ I thought, _is there anyone I can trust?_ “The more important question is, will the people of Westeros fight against the true heir of Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“He was defeated by my husband, if you have forgotten,” I reprimanded him. “And I am the rightful ruler of Westeros.”

“I am quite familiar with Robert’s Rebellion. But that’s just it… it was a _rebellion._ ”

I slammed my hand against the table and shot out, “One more word from you and I’ll have the Mountain crush your head like Oberyn Martell.”

There was a whimsical smile that spread across his face as he looked at me, and I noticed there was not a hint of fear in those dark brown eyes. “The Mountain may do many things to me, but he will not kill me, your Grace.”

“You seem so sure of it!”

He turned his head slowly until his eyes met the gold crusted helmet the Mountain wore over his face. “Oh, believe me, your Grace. I am.” He rose from his seat, the legs of his chair grating against the floor until he fully on his feet. “I have things to attend too. Will you excuse me.”

“I did not dismiss you!”

“No, you didn’t.” He waited for me to do so, and I stared at him with a look of defiance. “I am your _only_ friend,” he reminded me after an awkward silence. “Would you wish to do away with me as well?”

“Disregard my instructions again and I’ll kill you myself,” I warned him. “You are excused.”

“Your Grace is… most kind,” he muttered under his breath, before he gathered his belongings and turned to leave. I stared at the Mountain once he was gone and found myself wondering what side he was truly on.

 


	39. Dream of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Davos**

“I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun,” I remarked to the men around me as we trudged through the snow. “Or grass, or trees, or…”

“We get the point,” Gendry grumbled. His warhammer was loose in his hand as he walked ahead of us, his other arm like most of us was full of firewood.

“I’m just trying to say I want spring.”

Beric smiled at me knowingly, his left eye half squinting at me as the snow continued to fall around us. “I doubt we will outlive this winter,” he voiced with a peculiar air. “But you can dream of spring if it helps.”

My lips curled into a smile before I spoke out, “It helps! I want to pluck a mango off a tree again. I want to feel the sea breeze against my face as I man a ship- but not for smuggling, those days are gone now.” I pulled off my ice crusted glove to show him my missing fingertips. “See! I’ve paid the price.”

“Aye, at least you lost your fingers. I know men who have lost more than that.”

The Hound pulled down his scarf that was covering his mouth to mock the two of us. “Like your fucking eye!” he laughed at Beric. “Look at you two pansy’s, comparing who lost the most.”

“I have heard you lost the most,” Beric mused. “A battle to a _woman._ ”

The Hound spat on the ground just beside him in disgust. “She’s practically a man,” he jeered, and made a grunting sound that reminded me of a wild dog.

I cleared my throat before I pointed out, “I had a brief encounter with Lady Brienne. She was an honourable, good sort of woman.”

“She’s a wench,” the Hound muttered in ill humour. “And the next time I face her, she will get more than she bargained for.”

We were approaching our temporary camping site now, if you could call it that. We decided to set up a camp along the very edges of the forest, preferring to encamp in an open space rather than one that was unknown to us. The wildlings had no problem setting up here, but it was those from the warmer parts of Westeros that had problems adjusting to the shanty tents made of wolf skin and wood. We dumped the firewood in the center of our encampment, so a few handy men could rearrange it to their liking before they set it on fire. I was pulling up my hood when Lord Beric approached me from behind and leaned against my frame to whisper, “Do you know where we are?”

“In the middle of nowhere,” I grumbled, as I stuck my hands deep into my pockets for some extra warmth.

“Half way between Winterfell,” he replied. “And halfway between the Eastwatch. Do you know what that means?”

“No,” I answered him. “But I know that you wish to tell me.”

“It means we are the last thing standing between the living and the dead.”

“A fact I was already aware of,” I pointed out, after I let my eyes stray back to the fire that was now starting to burn in front of us.

“And yet we have no idea where those white walkers are,” he noted. “Or where they are coming from?”

“From here on out the North is mostly mountains and trees. It is safe to assume they will take the open road and that will lead them to us.”

“They can make the water freeze,” he breathed into the frigid air. “They break through walls built of rock and snow. Do you really think the forests will be too much for them?”

“What are you trying to say? They will find a way around us?”

“No.” His eyes strayed from me to see Jon Snow walking me behind me. “I mean they might come quicker than we expected.”

It was the King of the North that called out our names with a panic in his voice. He ran the rest of the way towards us before he bellowed out, “Have you seen Arya?”

“No, I haven’t seen her since yesterday,” I relayed in a calm voice. “She had dinner with us, I believe.”

“I can’t find her,” he stressed with a dark expression in his eyes.

“Will get the men to look for her,” I assured him. “She can’t have gone far?”

“I’ve asked everyone, and no one knows where she is.”

Lord Beric was very quiet, but I noticed a strange look in his left eye. He was looking past us, as if there was something turning in his mind. “Beric,” I barked. “What do you think?”

“I think… you should have your wolf look for her.”

“Ghost?”

“Yes.” His left eye averted to us with a curious gaze. “That is exactly what I meant.”

Jon Snow sighed low as his chest heaved from the strain. “I haven’t seen ghost either,” he confessed. “I don’t understand what is going on with the both of them. It’s like… something doesn’t add up.”

“There is tension.” Lord Beric half smiled at the young King. “I have observed it from the beginning.”

“I only wish I had,” Jon bitterly confessed. “But I was so caught up with-”

“Daenerys,” I teased. “So, much for having a good heart.”

Jon tried to supress his smile as he turned away from us. “I will ask the others,” he mused, and gave us a small nod as he turned to leave.

Lord Beric went the opposite way from the King and I followed him, sensing there was more than meets the eye with this man. He was heading to his tent at a leisurely pace, and I positioned myself right beside him even though my presence was no longer wanted by him. “What do you mean you _sensed_ tension?” I finally rapped out, once he purposely avoided my gaze.

“I see things,” he relayed. “That most people don’t.”

“And what did you see between Arya Stark and Ghost?”

“Arya Stark,” he repeated in a low tone of voice. “She’s as fleeting as a shadow, isn’t she?”

“You can say that.”

“Too fleeting,” he murmured, and paused once we walked past a crowd of Wildlings. “Have you not noticed how estranged Arya and her brother are?” he asked, once we walked across the open field.

“Its only natural,” I concluded. “Jon is a King.”

“A King,” he echoed. “A King that is married to the most powerful woman in Westeros. Even I did not see her in the flames, but here she is.”

“And what do you see in the flames about Arya Stark?”

“Nothing.” He turned his face to me for the first time since we wandered out in the field together. “But then again, I did not look for her.”

“We should be doing so now. I can’t believe the girl is missing.”

“She is not a girl- she isn’t even a woman. She’s no one.”

“Yes, Jon told me his sister used to be an assassin.”

“You speak in past tense,” he murmured. “I speak in the present.”

We were just in front of the forest now, the wind billowed through the branches and found its way to us. It felt colder in there, then it did out in the open space. _I don’t like it here,_ I thought, and inched backwards hoping Beric would catch my meaning.

“Where would a faceless person hide, if they don’t want to be discovered?” He dug his gloved fingers into the white bark meditatively. “The _darkness._ ”

It was Jon Snow’s voice that caught us off guard, behind him was Gendry, the Hound and a few other Wildlings. There was a worried look on Jon Snow’s face as he approached us, and it wasn’t until he was standing in between us that he asked, “What are you doing out here? You know you can’t go out this far?”

“We were looking for your sister,” Lord Beric answered him in a bored voice.

“She wouldn’t go in there.”

“Wouldn’t she?”

Jon looked over his shoulder to see the line of men behind him. “She would obey my orders. No one is allowed to go in there, not unless they are in groups of six.”

“Forgive me,” I piped up, and took a step forward. “What if she took Ghost with her?”

“She…” he paused and wore that brooding look that told me he was thinking. “Maybe we should take a look.”

It was Gendry that raised his hammer in the air as he shouted, “Arm yourselves, lads!”

“Stay close,” Jon urged, and took a step forward to lead us into the darkened forest.

“I don’t like this one bit,” the Hound grumbled. “The sun’s not even down yet, and its already dark.”

Jon motioned us forward, stepping over a fallen tree so we could go on a path already made for us. There was evidence that someone walked here before, but if it was Arya who made this footpath was still a mystery to us.

“I don’t see Ghost’s prints,” Jon observed. “So, he didn’t come here.”

“That’s a good sign,” I said in good humour. “Maybe all of this will be a waste.”

“Maybe not,” Lord Beric grunted, and pulled out his long sword before he led us into the continual darkness.

We trekked along the straight path for a few more minutes, but we found nothing of interest. After a few more grumbling from some of the men, Jon instructed the Wildlings to leave us and requested his closest companions to stay.

“Your sister,” Lord Beric questioned once he stood by Jon Snow’s side. “How have the two of you been lately?”

“We’ve been…” he moved his lips in a queer way, showing us that it hadn’t exactly been easy between the two of them. “She didn’t take my marriage well,” he confessed. “And she’s been unusually quiet.”

“Isolated,” Beric added.

“A bit of a lone wolf,” Jon joked. “I thought I should let her be.”

“Your wolf thought the exact opposite.”

“Yeah.” Jon stopped and turned to the lean looking man beside him. “How did you know?”

“When your direwolf is not howling at the moon, it is snarling at your poor sister.”

“Yes, Ghost hasn’t been behaving like his normal self lately.”

“I wonder why…”

“I’ve been keeping a distance from him too.” Jon continued his trek up the snowy incline, holding onto a tree branch as he walked up the slippery slope. “Nothing feels right anymore.”

“When did this first begin?”

“I’m not sure…”

In a loud voice I commented, “Before you were married.”

Lord Beric looked over his shoulder with amusement, happy it was someone else helping Jon Snow reach a plausible conclusion. “I have been traveling with you for a while,” he noted. “And your wolf didn’t always howl so mournfully like that.”

“It’s a pain in the ass,” the Hound barked. “If it belonged to anyone else I’d slit his throat along time ago.”

Gendry laughed, his voice carrying even from the back of the line. “You sound like the Dothraki.”

“Don’t compare me to that scum!”

“Alright, the two of you calm down,” I remonstrated, and turned around to give them each a meaningful look.

“Who the fuck are you looking at?” the Hound argued and raised his sword slightly.

“There is no need to compare who has the biggest dick,” Lord Beric shouted from the front of the line. “Let’s just stay focused on the task, shall we?”

Jon grunted in response and turned himself to face the icy pathway again. I was quick to follow him, and it wasn’t until I broke off a bothersome branch in front of me that I remarked, “You know the last time Ghost howled like that was the night you died.”

“Maybe he knows something I don’t,” Jon said over his shoulder. “They usually do anyways.”

“Fearsome beast,” I exclaimed. “But most helpful for you Starks.”

“Ghost was the last one,” he sighed. “The rest are gone.”

“Even more reason to find him.”

There was a sickly cough from the back, and I turned my head to see Gendry wearing a weary expression on his face. “We should get back,” he said in a raspy voice, the sound alone told me he was coming down with an awful cold.

“It is getting late,” I agreed. “Jon?”

“A little further,” he commanded, and brushed past Beric to take the lead.

There was a creaking sound off in the distance, as if someone or something was stepping on the wooden branches on the ground. “Stay still,” Jon ordered, and grabbed a hold of Longclaw before he pulled it out of his sheath.

“We went too far,” Gendry hushed from the back. “We should go back now, so we can get more men.”

“It’s to late for that,” Lord Beric said in a loud voice, before he charged ahead of us with his sword in the air. A high-pitch cry answered back in the distance, and a series of running footsteps could be heard across the icy ground. I was the last person to take out my sword and being the least skilled of them all I let them pass me before I followed their retreating steps. Another cry could be heard off to the side, and I feared we were quickly being surrounded. 

“Stay close!” Jon cried, before he started to run up the last of the snow hill with his sword gleaming in the low lighting of the forest.

“For fuck’s sakes,” the Hound grumbled, once we realized what was on top of the hill waiting for us. A line of little boys and girls with bright blue eyes were hungrily looking at us all.

“They're children,” I breathed in horror.

“Their white walkers,” Jon countered, and didn’t wait another second before he charged at them in a blind fury.

I quickly followed after them and struck the first one that approached me, a girl no more than seven was trying to dig her fingers into my arm, but I swung my sword upwards and sliced her in two after a few hard thrusts. Her body fell to the ground, but those harrowing blue eyes continued to stare up at me.

“Davos!” Gendry roared, and swung the Warhammer just behind my back. “Stay alert,” he ordered, before he ran just ahead of me to attack a young boy. I swallowed hard before I swung my sword to the side to hit another boy in the waist, but it barely made any damage to the large boy. He jumped at me, and I tried to dodge him, but those mangled hands clutched my frame. I drew the sword forward and pierced his chest before I kicked him away from me. A painful cry distracted me, but my attention was soon drawn into the fat boy that was now staggering towards me.

“Stay still,” Lord Beric bellowed, and threw a large rock in his hand straight at the boy’s head before he swung his sword at the the nearest child beside him. _What I would do for a valyrain blade,_ I mused, and stepped forward so I could help the Hound who was currently surrounded.

The Hound grunted as he slashed at the crowd of boys at his left and right elbows, trying to make some space so they wouldn’t surround him completely. I went behind one of them and stabbed him in the back, watching him wriggle between my blade with horror. _Why won’t they die,_ I thought, and pulled out my blade to slice at him again. I felt cold hands behind me, enrapturing my throat and I let out a loud groan as it pierced harder into my flesh. “Sandor,” I breathed, as I felt more pressure around my throat. My sword was useless against the attacker that was currently behind me, and the one white walker in front of me must have sensed my danger for it turned around to face me with a dangerous look in those cold dead eyes.

“Sandor!” I cried in anger, and he pulled back his moppy brown hair to squint at me.

He pushed one of the walkers aside and swung his blade downward to slash the one in front of me. He was almost at my side when another one jumped on him at his blind spot on his left and pulled him down to the ground.

“Retreat!” Jon Snow yelled in the distance, and the white snow seemed to blot him out from my view. “Move back!”

“Jon,” I cried, as the grip grew tighter and I found myself kneeling on the floor. “Help,” I breathed, and then the darkness seemed to surround me till I felt a coldness run through me. _Never ending cold,_ I thought, once my body slunk to the frigid floor.

 


	40. A New Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Theon**

_So, its true then. Euron does brings the storm._

The icy water was raging beneath our ship as we approached the shores of King’s Landing. Cold air was felt down my lungs, as I pulled on the rope harder with my men. “Pull!” the Captain bellowed from above, and the black sails pointed towards the shore. My fellow sailors were half distracted by the towering walls overlooking the icy cliffs, but there was no time for that, if we don’t pull on the robe hard enough the boat would most certainly crash against the rocky crags.

“Harder,” Captain Hoster ordered, his voice fully in control despite of the fast pace of _The Calgen._ “I don’t intend to die today, lads.”

“That’s it!” his second command, Hardy, roared from the deck. “We’re almost there!”

I looked at the veins bulging out of my arms, the strain was most certainty taking its affect, but I couldn’t stop now. _Think of Yara,_ I told myself, and soon found enough strength to carry on. The wind beated against us, making everyone on the deck shiver by the unexpected cold. The exotic warm of Essos was long gone now, it was only ice and snow that greeted us along the craggy shores of King’s Landing.

“Hold it,” Hardy ordered, as he walked down the wooden steps. “Maintain that grip on the rope.” He walked down the long line of men, inspecting each one to ensure we were carrying our weight. He stopped at me, those black eyes scanned over my visage with indifference. “Your looking better, Reek.”

I nodded my head slightly at him, and he did the same before he continued to examine each man. _Better,_ I mused, as I reached upwards to rub the back of my hand against my cold nose. _He means_ _healthier._ The past month I had done nothing but carry heavy loads and run up and down the deck at the Captain’s bidding; the work was hard, but my body soon adapted and now I was leaner and stronger than ever before.

“Alright, that’s enough,” the Captain bellowed, and gave a quick clap at us before he turned back to the front of the deck.

_We’re here,_ I realized, and ran over to the edge of the ship to peer at the icy rocks jutting out of the sea. _The Calgen_ cautiously went around that sharp bend and was now joining the rest of Euron’s fleet on the sandy shore. The Golden Company was making their way up the deck, all strapped in red and golden armour that foretold the end of Westeros itself.

“Aye, they look fearsome, don’t they?” Anson asked on my right. He was the oldest crewman on board, but he could pull his weight like everyone else. He brushed his long matted grey hair back and gave me a lop-sided grin. “The Golden Company, I mean.”

“Yeah, they do.”

“But I heard the other side has dragons.”

“Yes, I have heard that as well,” I lied. _I have seen them with my own eyes,_ I mused, _and the dragon Queen herself._

“My money is on the Golden Company though.” He rolled up his sleeves, not minding the cold air at all. “They say they’re undefeated.”

We watched the soldiers crowd the ship, their swords lightly swinging in their hands as they watched the ship edge closer to the shore. _They look ready for battle._ The redness of their armour glistened in the dim grey lighting coming from the sky. _They look ready for blood too._

“It looks like our job here is done,” Anson mumbled. “Are you joining us back to Essos?”

“No, I’m staying in Westeros,” I answered him. “I have to find my sister. She’s all I have left now.”

“Family is family,” he mused, after he smeared his hand over his weather-beaten face. “But gold is another thing as well.”

“Hoster pays well,” I agreed.

“He’ll pay better after we drop these men off.” He pointed to the castle above our heads and noted, “Euron will get a handsome fee for his services to the Crown and will reap from it.”

“The only fee he’ll get is a good fucking,” I unexpectedly said, and realized my error when Anson looked at me funny. “He’s to marry the Queen,” I explained quickly. “And she is a lion, after all.”

“Aye, a lion in bed,” he concurred, and smiled at me in approval. “Smart boy.”

Anson clapped me on the back as he turned to go, there was still work to be done before the Golden Company left our ship for good.

* * *

_You’re a Greyjoy, and you’re a Stark,_ rang through my ears the moment I stepped off the ship with the rest of my crew. Most of them were intent on getting drunk at the local bars or screwing around in the whorehouses, but I had more honourable deeds to accomplish today.

Anson whistled beside me, he took it upon himself to join me up the long trek across Blackwater Bay that would inevitably lead to the Red Keep. “This place smells like shit,” he muttered, and spat on the ground to prove his point. “Who would want to rule this place?”

“Euron,” I answered him, careful to keep a distance from the billowing golden cloaks just ahead of us, their red tipped helmets told us that the Golden Company had successfully infiltrated King’s Landing as they made their way up the sandy bay as well. The few people on the streets moved back in terror as they watched the masked men approach them from behind, they were a strange thing to behold. They marched in unison, and their deathly silence was most concerning. “They remind me of the Unsullied,” I remarked.

“Unsullied? I’ve never seen them in action, but I suppose your right.”

“How do men like that get so brave?” I wondered. “They don’t fear death?”

“Everyone fears death.”

“Not everyone.”

“I do,” he answered truthfully. “You do! But it doesn’t matter what we fear, as long as we stand up to face it.”

“That’s called bravery.”

“Bravery,” he muttered, as he looked over his shoulder to see a few more sailors trailing behind us. “That’s the thing that makes a man.”

“I’m not brave.” _I’m weak, it rhymes with Reek._

“Your brave… and strong. It would help if you had a different name than Reek.”

“I like it.”

“No,” he drawled. “It doesn’t fit you anymore. Sure, the moment I saw you on board looking like a sniveling child it suited you, but your different now. The sea winds changed you- the storms made you stronger.”

“Vickon,” I suddenly said, and turned my gaze to the haggard looking man beside me. “From now on you call me that.”

“Strange name,” he muttered under his breath. “Why that name in particular?”

“He was my ancestor,” I said, as I straightened my back with pride. “A great captain and ruler for my people.” _I want to be like Vickon Greyjoy,_ I surmised, _at least he knew it was better to work with the Targaryen’s and their dragons than to fight against them._

“So, the sea is in your blood,” the old man said with surprise. He smiled at me, noticing the powerful look penetrating out of my eyes. “Yes, I can see that now.”

Our feet treaded across smooth stones that ran up the Capital, and we were soon surrounded by beggars and tradesman actively looking out for foreign money. Anson wasn’t bothered by them at all, we both had very little money in our pockets, only a fool would carry that much gold up to King’s Landing. “I’m happy I’m armed,” I whispered, after we passed a group of mischievous boys staring at us from a dark alleyway.

“I’m happy I don’t look like a threat,” he countered, and showed me the small dagger that was just poking out of his sleeve.

“We should be fine,” I assured him, and motioned us to walk faster up the windy hill so we could be closer to the Golden Company. There was a few clapping up ahead, probably a swarm of woman greeting my mad uncle. _That will only inflate his ego,_ I mused, and found my jaw tightening the more I thought about it. _I could only hope Yara was with him,_ if she was still onboard the ship then this journey isn’t wasted.

“How about we stop for something to eat?” Anson suggested, and pointed at a local bakery shop at our right. “I’m tired of ship food.”

“Sure,” I absent-mindedly said, and followed him into the scanty looking shop. The place was empty once we were inside, the light barely coming in from the foggy window as we made our way to the front. Anson pounded on the wooden desk in front of him to get someone’s attention, a few seconds passed by before a young boy timidly walked into the room.

“You guys always this quiet?” Anson asked the pale looking boy. He made a small whimper in reply, which only aggravated us further. “I said…”

“He heard what you said,” a voice yelled out from the back of the bakery. A round looking man approached us with a cautious gaze, his hands enraptured in a cloth as he scrubbed his hands clean. “He knows better not to talk to the likes of you.”

“We have honest money,” I explained to him, knowing exactly what he was implying. “And we are from Westeros, we mean you no harm.”

The man leaned against the other side of the table and stared at us long and hard. He threw the cloth down on the table and whispered into the boy’s ear something that made him leave the front of the bakery. “What do you want?”

“Food,” Anson rapped out. “And he’s from Westeros! I’m from Essos, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get around.”

“I want a loaf of bread,” I told the baker. “And some ham if you have any.”

“Cheese,” my friend added.

“And ale, if you sell any here.”

The baker moved to the side and pulled out a freshly baked loaf of bread from some cloth wrapping. “You realize this is a golden dragon, right?”

“For a loaf of bread!” I exclaimed.

“Aye, for a loaf,” he mimicked. “And that doesn’t include the ham and cheese.”

Anson walked towards the baker with eagle eyes, he scanned the meager looking bread with curiosity. “Why so much?”

“Because I have to make a living,” the baker snarled. “And the Queen isn’t doing much to help us.”

It was now my turn to scan the small loaf of bread, and even though I was hungry that wasn’t enough to tempt me. “What does the Queen have anything to do with it?”

“She has everything,” he sneered. “Are you going to buy the bread or not?”

Anson smacked his large hand on my shoulder and answered, “We’re going somewhere else.”

“They will all be the same price,” the baker quickly said.

“Will try our luck.”

“Luck will not help you.”

“Come on, Vickon.” My companion pulled on my shoulder to force me away from the exhausted looking baker. “Let’s go.”

The cold air greeted us the moment we were outside, and I found myself wishing we were back in the warmth of the bakery. I drew my hood over my head, not wanting to the snow to fall on my hair just yet and continued my venture up the winding hill.

“A golden dragon,” Anson growled, with an angry shake of the head. “The thief.”

“What if he was right?” I asked. “What if they are all the same price as that?”

“Then I’ll be back on _The Calgen_ before sundown,” he replied, and took a few steps ahead of me to lead me up the hill.

* * *

Anson and I were in the far corner of the Red Keep, our heads were ducked low as the last of the Golden Company swarmed the room. We took a few short cuts to get here just in time, still, it was foolish to be here; my Uncle was in the very front of the room atop of a black stallion, a sea of red crested helmets surrounded him, and I could barely make out Yara’s bony figure as she laid her hands around the noose that continued to drag her to the front of the room. The Queen stood in front of the Iron Throne in silent greeting, and I saw how imposing she could be as her hazel eyes scanned the room.

“Well done, Euron Greyjoy,” she declared to the room. “I see you have brought me a gift.”

I found myself slinking off the wall, pushing my way through the back of the crowd to get a better look. “I did!” he jeered, with his hands wide in the air to make himself look bigger. “I always knew I could find a way to your heart.”

“You have kept your promise, and I shall keep mine,” she exclaimed. “You shall be the King of Westeros.”

The crowd around me erupted in cheers, but the Golden Company remained silent. Euron waved his hands in the air to accept their applause, bowing low to win further approval. _He’s like a monkey in a_ _zoo,_ I thought mournfully, and pushed my way further into the crowd despite Anson trying to get a hold of my arm.

“I think we will be great rulers together,” my Uncle surmised, as he mounted the great steps of the Red Keep. “Both of us want to destroy our enemies.”

“We do,” the Queen assented with a sharpness to our voice. “And the Golden Company is the best way to do it.”

“I am…” he spread his hands out more until his cloak looked like two great wings. “Most excited to see them in action.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“Where shall we send them, my love,” he teased, before he mounted the last step and was now at her level. He turned to face the crowd, showing us that he was now entirely her equal. “Who shall we destroy first?”

“The Vale,” she said with a smile. “Let’s show them what happens when they rebel against the Crown.”

Euron made a battle cry as pumped his fist up into the air with violent force. “Let them pay the Iron price!” he yelled into the crowded room. “For what is dead, will never die,” he hissed, and turned to the Queen with a maniacal look. “Let’s go _murder_ them.”

“You heard them!” the Queen shouted to the Golden Company. “Kill every last one of them, and when you are finished there head north. I want you to bring back Lady Sansa’s head.”

“And we shall mount it in the Red Keep,” Euron jeered. “Along side my dear niece.”

“No,” the Queen replied, and took a few steps down the stairs to get a closer look at Yara’s withered frame. “I have a better plan for her.”

I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to get as close as possible without being detected by the Golden Company or worse- Euron. Yara was without fear when the Queen finally approached her, motionless as the Cersei strung her fingers through my sister’s slick wet hair. “What does my Queen have in mind?” Euron breathed behind her. “I know she is as blood thirsty as me.”

“Qyburn has been asking for more patients,” she slyly said, as she continued to stare into my sister’s eyes. “For his _experiments._ ”

“Experiments,” Euron said with disgust, and rounded around the Queen to face Yara instead. “No! She must have worse than that.”

“Have you seen the Mountain?” Her hand dropped from Yara to point at the ominous figure next to the Iron Throne. “Do you know what is better than destroying your enemy? Making them become your friend.”

“I do not like friends,” Euron jeered.

“No, then let us say more than friends.” She gave a fake smile to Yara, a thing that made me very uneasy. “How about slaves?”

“I have enough slaves.”

“Silent slaves,” the Queen added. “One’s that will do your bidding without you ever having to ask them twice.”

“Obviously, you have never met my slaves.”

“No,” she said in a bored voice. “But you have never met the Mountain, before Qyburn brought him back to life. Believe me when I say… you will like the new version of Yara much better.”

“I want to see it.”

She smiled at Euron now, a devious look was in her eyes as she whispered, “It will be my wedding present.”

The two of them looked awfully pleased with themselves, a thing that made Yara look away for a second to catch my face in the crowd. I raised my finger over my lips to silence her and ducked into the crowd again not wanting Euron to catch sight of me as well.

“Shall we send them off together?” the Queen asked in a loud voice, as she took a step closer to her betrothed.

“Kill them all!” Euron bellowed, and with his hand raised in the air towards the door, the soldiers turned in unison and marched out the door. The people of King’s Landing moved to the side of the walls, and I found myself being squished to the side where the Queen’s Golden Cloak’s were standing. I pulled my hood over my head, not wanting one of them to recognize me just in case and crept down lower so I could find Anson in the last place I left him.

“Are you pregnant?” I heard amongst the crowd, recognizing Euron’s arrogant voice anywhere.

“I am,” the Queen answered him in a calm voice.

“Well, it wasn’t from me.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

I turned my head to the front of the Keep, to see the two of them standing in front of the Iron Throne. Euron was obviously annoyed to see the bump now on full display since Cersei opened up her winter cloak and let it hang off her shoulders. “Then who is it? Don’t tell me its Jaime.”

“We will discuss this in private,” she snapped.

“That wasn’t a part of the deal,” he snarled, and his violent outburst made the Mountain step forward.

I felt a tug on my shoulder and looked down to see Anson at my side. “We should go,” he whispered, and nodded his head towards the door where the rest of the people were streaming through. “We don’t want to be the last ones here, do we?”

“No,” I breathed, and took one last look back at the tense couple before I followed him out the door.

 


	41. The Players and the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Samwell**

It was just after noon when I returned to my office, the warmth from the fire greeted me as I staggered into my room. My boots were soaking wet after hours sludging through the snow, and I was grateful for the chair in front of the fire for me to rest my weary feet. I heaved off my right boot and placed it just in front of the flickering flames before I turned my attention to the next. _I should call a maid in for a piping_ _hot beverage,_ I mused, _and some rolls of bed if there is any left._ I was well aware how fortunate Gilly and I were; half of Westeros was suffering from grain shortages, while Winterfell seemed to have an abundance of it. _I have Lord Baelish to thank for that,_ I noted, _everything he seems to touch turns into gold._

 _Gilly doesn’t like him,_ I remembered, as I slipped off my socks and laid it atop of the fireplace. _And now that I think about it, I am not exactly fond of him either._

I went over to my main desk and found my furred slippers tucked away in the corner where I left them last. After that I shed my winter coat and laid it at the back of my chair, keenly aware of the drops of water already gathering on the floor. I shivered slightly as I made my way around the table and made my way to the fire to warm my hands. _It could be worse,_ I mused, _I could have a deathly cold like the patient I just attended too._ I rubbed my hands together, trying to feel some warmth at the tips of my fingers. A sneeze escaped me, so I went over to a wooden chest to wrap a blanket around my frigid frame. _Its so_ _cold here._ Another sneeze escaped me, and I went over to the other side of my office to peak through a door adjourning to this one to see if a maid was around. _No one,_ I deliberated, and was about to close the door when I heard a knock coming from the room connected to this one. _Someone probably wants to send off another raven,_ I concluded, and stepped into the letter room- or that’s the name I have given it since I retained the position of Maester at Winterfell, so I could open the other door.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” a smooth voice said from a heavily cloaked man.

“No, not at all. Please, come in,” I answered him, and opened the door wider for the tall, stout looking man to enter the room. “Do you want to send a letter?”

“Not exactly,” he replied, and lifted his fat hands to his face to pull down his black hood. He had a wide face, cleanly shaven and a shiny bald head; dark beady eyes stared back at me with a leveled gaze. “I wanted information.”

“About what?”

“I have so many questions, and so little answers,” he slyly said, and made his way past me to head towards the window. He pulled back the blinds to look out the frost covered glass, but everything was indistinguishable in his line of sight.

“I don’t think we’ve been acquainted.” I raised my hand towards his back and rapped out, “Samwell Tarly at your service.”

“I know who you are,” he drawled, while his large back continued to face me. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Oh,” I quietly said, and lowered my hand with a sense of melancholy.

“But at least you had a family. I don’t even remember mine.”

“My father rejected me,” I confessed. “And I was never close with my brother.”

“But you are an heir now, aren’t you?” He half turned in my direction, but his eyes continued to look upwards as if he was trying to catch the ravens squealing up above. “Why are you still here?”

“I am a Maester,” I simply replied, as if that was all the answer he needed to hear.

“You are an heir,” he retorted. Those sharp eyes looked at me now. “And a wealthy one at that.”

“I live to serve the Starks.”

“You mean Jon Snow,” he countered. “I have heard how close the two of you are, so I understand why you have decided to stay.”

I rub the sides of my shoulders to retain some warmth. “He asked me too.”

“He trusts you,” the stranger answered with an air of certainty. “Far more than his sister.”

“Sansa?” I questioned him. “I wouldn’t say that-”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he mused with a small shrug of the shoulders. “But I expected as much from you.”

“You seem to know a lot about me, but I know nothing of you.”

“Lord Varys,” he quipped. “You can say I am an old friend of Lord Baelish.”

“Lord Baelish doesn’t seem like the kind of person to have many friends.” _I shouldn’t have said that,_ I realized, as I saw the smallest of smiles spread across the man’s face.

“He doesn’t,” Lord Varys answered, and I noticed how determined he was to keep his hands inside of those long sleeves as he made his way around my letter desk. “Has there been any letters from the Queen?”

“Daenerys?” I asked, as I followed his carefully measured steps.

“Or Cersei,” he coolly replied, before his eyes scanned the length of my room. “They are both Queens after all.”

“Yes, but…” I paused, wondering if I should say so much in front of this stranger. “One is the rightful Queen.”

“The rightful one,” he agreed. “Even though she has the right to rule doesn’t necessarily mean everyone agrees with it.”

“Well, I think she should be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“And that Jon Snow- no, Jon Targaryen should be the King?”

“Yes.”

He gave me half a smile, but those eyes retained the same level of gravity as before. “You are loyal to a fault Lord Tarly.”

I stood up straighter, letting the blanket around me fall down the length of my tall frame. “I am not a Lord,” I gravely replied. “I am a Maester.”

“No wonder the two of you got along. You both don’t want to accept what you truly are.” He stood in front of me and eyed me up and down in an intimating manner. “You are a Lord, whether you like it or not. And pretty soon you will have to decide…” He bit down on his tongue and tilted his head to the side slightly. “What side you are truly on?”

“What do you-”

“You don’t see the sides, Lord Tarly?” he interjected. “Then I suppose you don’t see that you can either be a pawn or a player as well.”

I let my blanket slide down my shoulders and rolled it into a ball as I considered what he had just said. _Player or pawn,_ I mused, _what can he mean by that?_

“Has there been any letters from the Queen?” he repeated.

“Yes, I received one from Daenerys Targaryen just today actually. I haven’t given it to Lord Baelish yet. I had other matters to attend too.”

“Don’t you think that is rather important?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I opened my mouth to reply, but after considering what he had said that should have been the first thing I did this morning. _If only I had an assistant, then I wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed all the time._

“I see you are tongue tied.”

“No, I’m-”

“It’s perfectly alright,” he interrupted me again. “If it helps you are far more efficient than the Maester I used to know at King’s Landing. His name was Parcelle, if that rings a bell.”

“Uhhh…” I nervously replied and rubbed my forehead in an anxious manner. “No, I don’t.”

“Any letters from Queen Cersei?”

_He’s a bit nosy, isn’t he? I wonder if he is always like this, or does he think I’m the type of person to give such confidential information away?_

“I am only curious,” he said after an awkward silence. “We are at war with her, you know?”

“I wouldn’t call it a war.”

“Oh, so the likely hood of us being defeated by her army does not constitute it being a war?”

“I am only saying-”

“We will either be the conquerors or the conquered, which one do you prefer, Lord Tarly?”

 _I am not a Lord,_ I wanted to shout out. “It doesn’t matter anyways if we don’t win the war against the dead.”

“Oh, yes! I forgot about that one.” He walked around the room with his arms closely nuzzled against his chest. “There are so many wars going on… so many lives at stake.”

 _What does he mean by that?_ I watched his movements carefully, wondering where he was going with all this. “It is curious…” he pondered aloud, after his lips twisted to the side of his face. “That the the rightful heirs to the Iron Throne are both up north fighting a battle to save the people of Westeros, while the rest of the lords and ladies scheme their way to the top.”

“The top of what?” I asked to his back, for he was now looking at the closed cabinet where all the letters were stored.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he droned. “The ladder? The steps? The things that lead you to the very end of the game.” He looked over his shoulder as he muttered, “The Game of Thrones.”

There was a knock on the door that came from my regular quarters, so I excused myself quietly and half closed the door as I went into my private quarters. “Gilly,” I scolded, once I cracked open the door and saw her and little Sam in her arms. “I told you not to come here during my-”

She held up a few rolls tucked away in her arms, all bundled up in a warm towel. “I thought I’d bring you something to eat,” she interrupted. “I know how hard you’ve been working.”

“Gilly,” I chided in a low tone of voice. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“Someone has too,” she sweetly said, and gave me a smile that warmed my heart.

“Could we come in?”

“I have someone here already,” I confided, and looked over my shoulder to see my letter room was empty. “Wait a minute, something’s wrong.”

I was just opening the door to my letter room when Gilly asked, “What is it?”

“That man is gone,” I grumbled, and scanned my entire room in confirmation.

“That’s good for us,” she piped up. “More time to talk.”

“No, he was…” I twisted my mouth with displeasure. “He was… I don’t know Gilly. Something about him was a little off.” I took out my keys and went over to my cabinet to ensure everything was still in place. “He was asking a lot of questions.”

“It’s because you’re a smart man,” she proudly said, and the happy squeal from little Sam seemed to confirm it.

I slid open the cabinet door, investigating the top row first to ensure everything was in order. They were all labeled and placed in the right dates, but I noticed the one for today was rolled up tighter than usual. _Wait a second,_ I pulled it out and unraveled it at the seams to find the letter was blank. _He swapped it!_

“Sam?” Gilly asked, as I charged out the door with the blank letter in hand. There was no time to explain, there wasn’t even time to put on my winter boots. _I have to find Lord Baelish,_ I thought, as I jogged down the halls of Winterfell.

* * *

When I finally spotted Lord Baelish and his wife they were just returning from a country ride, their all black vesture made them easy to point out as they rounded around the wooden stables. I continued to trudge through the snow, knowing my frozen feet was only the beginning of the pain I would soon experience once I told the truth to the Lord of Winterfell. He was helping his wife off her horse as I approached him, his hands quick to surround her entire frame and hold her close as he leveled her to the ground. A sound kiss was heard, and I could have sworn my cheeks turned a shade of red as the sounds only grew worse by the moment. I cleared my throat once I was only a few steps away and sheepishly raised my hand to catch their attention. “My Lord,” I said in a shaky voice, and waited for him to turn his head in my direction. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

“You may,” he said in a smooth voice, and gave me a charming smile that soon settled my nerves.

“I… there has been an incident. A letter was stolen from my room by Lord Varys.”

It was Lady Sansa that addressed me: “Are you quite sure it was him?”

“He was in my room last,” I confided. “And he was asking a great deal of questions about a letter I received today.”

“By whom?” The Lord of Winterfell drawled, with a sharpness to his voice that demanded a quick answer.

“Queen Daenerys.”

“It must have contained details about Jon,” Lady Sansa surmised. “It isn’t that important.”

“It is,” her husband retorted. “If Varys was so willing to _steal_ it.”

I took a step forward and held the blank sheet of paper in front of them. “He left this in its place.”

Lord Baelish held the very edges and drew his finger along the blank sheet of paper meditatively. “He knows the kind of paper you use,” he remarked. “And the exact size. I reckon he’s done this before.”

“He could have,” I concluded. “I believe he has a copy of my keys as well.”

Lord Baelish looked at his wife curiously, and she narrowed her eyes at him in answer. “Lord Varys is a very clever man,” he concluded, and stuck the piece of paper into his pocket. “But even the cleverest can be outmanoeuvred.” He took a step forward and laid his hand over my shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Sam,” he said in a pleasant voice. “I think we should keep this to ourselves.”

“I understand, my Lord.”

“Good,” he murmured, and rubbed his hand over my shoulder profusely. “Do you have any idea what the letter said.”

“By memory,” I deliberated aloud. “She intends to stay where she is for now. There is still no sign of Drogon, or word from her husband.” I felt a sudden tightness on my shoulder, but it soon relented once I caught Lord Baelish’s eye.

“Anything else,” he said in a low raspy voice, before he let his hand fall down my shoulder and stray away from me.

“She wanted to know if you needed any extra troops. I believe Lady Sansa’s last letter informed her of the danger the Lannister’s army poses to us, and she has offered to send a third of her remaining army to Winterfell.”

Lady Sansa smiled at me as she made her way to her husband. “This is good news. I never expected her to do that… this must be Jon’s doing.”

“It depends on what kind of troops,” her husband deliberated. “I would prefer to not have the Dothraki here.”

“Oh, no!” agreed his wife. “That would never work.”

Lord Baelish looked at his wife in solidarity, and a quick exchange of their eyes was all that needed before he responded, “I will send a letter requesting the Unsullied. If she refuses, then at least her good deed will not be forgotten. I am happy to see her willingness to strengthen our alliance.”

“Yes, she does seem to care about us,” I answered him, even though it was out of turn.

“Care,” he echoed with a darkness to his eyes. “Such a strange expression to use for a _Dragon Queen._ ” He smiled at his wife, and I noticed the lines around his mouth curling upward in a sinister manner. “I would never characterize the Targaryen’s as caring, still…”

“We are grateful,” his wife finished for him, and gave her husband a warning look. “We will send them a letter today, since the weather is very fine.”

“Yes,” Lord Baelish drawled, and licked the corner of his lip with pleasure. “It was very fine indeed.”

Lady Sansa nudged him with her shoulder, and with that the pair exchanged a telling look before they started to leave me. “Should I do anything, my Lord?”

“Take a careful look at your letters to ensure there is no more blanks,” he yelled over his shoulder. “And pay particular attention to the ones around our wedding.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m starting to wonder,” he replied, as he half turned around to face me. “If someone can easily put in a blank letter, why not write a false copy of one and put it in its steed.”

“Do you mean a forged letter?” Lady Sansa whispered.

“That is exactly what I mean,” he murmured, before he pulled at her hand to lead them away.

“Seven Hells,” I cursed, as I watched them anxiously whispering to each other as they made their way up the open courtyard. Lord Baelish motioned to a guard to come forward, as he was making his usual round, and I knew by the sharp sudden movements of all three parties as they strode down the last of the courtyard that Lord Varys would regret swiping that letter away from me.

 


	42. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Beric**

“So, your awake at last?” Ser Davos was opening his eyes just now, his hand rubbing the length of his throat irritably. “Your lucky the Hound is just as strong as he looks.”

The Hound cast me a glower over his shoulder, before he hoisted Ser Davos higher up on his shoulder. We were trekking through the dark forest quickly, trying to keep up with the sounds just ahead of us. The last few white walkers were still on our tail, but we were able to slip out of their view for now.

“What happened?” Ser Davos asked in a groggy voice. “I thought I was done for.”

A high-pitch squeal behind us seemed to confirm his thought, and I couldn’t help but go a little faster downhill. “I saw the two of you in trouble and came to your aid,” I explained. “It wasn’t easy.”

The sounds of footfalls running across the forest floor made me turn around and raise my sword just in front of me. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” I told the Hound once he turned around with a curious look.

“You’ll never be able to beat all of them,” he gruffly said, and waited for me to return to his side.

“I”ll catch up,” I assured him, and waited for him to leave me before I closed my eyes and said a quiet prayer. “Lord of Light defend us,” I whispered into the frosty air. “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

The second I opened my eyes I saw a small girl groveling on the floor; with one quick flick of the wrist I ignited my sword and pointed it towards her in warning. There was another sound just ahead of me, and I knew there would be more than one I would have to face. “Lord of the light show me the way,” I breathed, before I charged at them with full force to strike the white walker closest to me. She let out a shattering howl as she jumped in the air like an animal, but I was quick enough to strike her on the shoulder and combated that with a stab at the back of her head once she fell to the floor. Another one came sprinting at me from the bushes, so I had no choice but to pull my flaming sword out of the frozen corpse to defend myself from the second attack. “Come to us in our darkness,” I growled, as I pierced the walker in the chest. “And lead your faithful servant to the light.”

Those frozen blue hands reached for me, so I dug my sword deeper into his chest until he stopped moving. One came up to me from my side, so I thrusted my sword to the side bringing the frozen corpse with me. “Ha!” I yelled in triumphant, once I blocked the raging walker with the frozen corpse. He let out a growling sound and tore at the corpse in front of me in such an angry rage that I drew my sword out and began to run.

 _Six times, Thoros? Six times is too many._ I was sprinting down the hillside now, hearing the grating squeals from the few remaining walkers behind me, the hilt of my flaming sword directed my way through the dark forest. I hid behind a large tree trunk, so I could catch my breath and only when I felt some sense of calm did I turn around to face the four of them. _If I die, I die,_ I thought, and let out a deep sigh as I let them circle around me.

 _There are worse things than death,_ a little voice said at the back of my mind. _I could become like them._

The shortest child there let out a hissing sound before it charged at my legs. I swung my sword at him, knocking his head right off with a clean swipe. The three other ones trained those bright blue eyes at me and closed around me with a vengeance. “R’hollor, please,” I begged, and raised my blazing red sword higher in one last attempt. They came at me at once, so I swiveled around in a circle as I struck each one quickly, trying to dodge their mangled hands that were anxious to grab a hold of my own. “No!” I cried, once the largest one took a hold of my arm and pulled it with all his strength. I fell to the ground but quickly rolled over, to stab the closest one in the thigh. It let out a howl as I got to my feet, and I kicked it with all my might before I faced the other two. _My sword_ , I thought, as I felt it slip out of my hand and saw it crash down with my enemy. The flame immediately went out with a low sizzling sound. “Lord of Light,” I sighed in defeat, as I felt them closing in around me. I drew out a small dagger I carried with me always and held it in front of my chest.

“Jon!” I heard in the far distance, the sound coming from the Hound. It was enough of a distraction for me to slam my shoulder into the nearest one and reach for my sword.

“Light!” I bellowed and ignited the flame with a swift motion. “Kill,” I cried, and swung at the two of them in such a fluid motion that they both fell at the same time. I leaned over them, ensuring they were truly dead before I chopped off their head for some sense of assurance.

“Jooonnnn!” another voice cried out, and I recognized that voice at once. I wiped my brow clean before I ran down the last of the hill and turned right to follow the voices just ahead of me.

“Jon!” the Hound roared again, and I could tell there was anger in his voice. I tripped over a tree branch and fell to the floor, the snow smearing the side of my face and I could taste blood where the side of my face cut against a sharp rock. _There’s no time,_ I told myself, and got off the ground without a second thought. _He is the Prince that is promised._

The trail I was taking was now going uphill, the patch of snow was clear from all trees and rocks, and that alone allowed me to catch an unfamiliar sight. _Paw prints,_ I realized, as my sword ignited the path around me. _And blood._

“Jon, don’t go in there,” Gendry called out in the distance, and that made me look up the path to find there was a pool of blood just ahead of me. I crouched down and tore off my glove to feel the red snow. _Frozen,_ I thought, and noted it must have been a few hours ago since it spilled against the ground. _There were foot prints here too, smaller than most, and deep into the ground as they held a wide stance._

“This isn’t wise,” Ser Davos entreated, his voice carrying in the wind. “You don’t know what’s inside of there.”

I lifted myself from the ground and followed the trail of blood upwards, winding around the few remaining trees and over a slab of rock where it was heaviest. I looked over the empty patch of field to find there was a wooden shed there, probably a home for some Northerns a long time ago. There were three figures just outside of it, and my flaming sword must have caught their attention for they all turned around at the same time. “Where’s Jon?” I asked in a loud voice, as I staggered towards them.

“He’s in there,” Ser Davos grumbled. “We’re still looking for Arya.”

“The trail of blood leads in there,” Gendry explained, after he took a good look at my bloody face.

The cooing of an owl could be heard over our heads, and the howling breeze brushing across the wooden shed. It was silent- too silent, so I took slow steps towards the opening of the shed. “Jon!” I called out and waited for a reply before I went just in front of the open doorway.

“I’m in here,” he hushed in a mournful tone of voice. A rush of bats flew out of the open shed, and I ducked low to avoid the cloud of black that was now flying towards the trees. There is something not _right,_ I noticed, once I caught sight of their blue eyes hovering over our heads.

“Jon!” I screamed and was about to run inside when I heard a loud roar coming deep inside the shed.

There was a panic noise inside, and a shuffling of feet before I heard the steps resounding across the open shed and was heading to the door. “Run!” Jon shouted, and brushed past me to get out of there as fast as he could.

“Seven Hells!” Ser Davos cried behind me, and I knew the reason for his curses. Ghost was in front of me, and those blue eyes tore into me with an unquenchable hunger.

“Lord of Light,” was the only thing I could muster as I took slow steps back. “Protect us.”

“Get out of the way,” Jon ordered, and moved ahead of me to swipe at his direwolf. The creature was quick to respond and pounced at him with a wildness that made me stagger backwards. Ghost was on top of Jon, ready to dig his claws into his chest, but I was quick to respond and stabbed my flaming sword into his ribs. It growled and shined those blue eyes at me, the side of his fur already igniting in flames. Jon took the opportunity to shuffle forwards, moving away from the sharp jaws of the burly beast. Ser Davos helped him to his feet while I pulled the sword out of the half-dead creature.

“We have to kill him,” Jon related between frantic breaths.

Gendry swung his Warhammer at the beast, but the direwolf moved his head just in time and rammed the side of his body into the young man. The Hound backed away quickly, not liking the flames that were slowly engulfing the creature. Jon and I attacked Ghost on either side, our Valyrian blades piercing the creature with desperation as he swung his paws in every direction.

“I got him,” Gendry barked, and swung his hammer at the side of the direwolf’s leg, making a splinter sound as the hammer met his frigid bones. His leg was immediately broken, but that did not stop the wild nature of the beast that now clamoring towards me with angry growls.

“Beric,” Ser Davos warned, but it was too late the creature had already dug its jaws into the side of my shoulder and brought me down to the ground. I let out a pained grunt as it bit its way deeper into my flesh, the sword in my hand fell to the ground and went out the second it touched the frozen snow.

Jon stabbed the creature at the side, but it was too late those sharp teeth were now digging its way upwards, chomping on my collarbone. I cried in pain, using my left hand to fight back, but the blood and the cold air from the direwolf’s open mouth was quickly engulfing me. “Jon!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, but the last of my cries were snuffed out once the direwolf lifted me into the air.

“Now!” Jon ordered, and all four of the men attacked the wolf at the exact same time, making him drop me to the floor head first. Everything went hazy after that a few sounds hear and there were barely distinguishable to my ears. “R’hollor,” I mouthed, and felt this was the last time I would die. _Seven would be too much._

“Beric,” Jon hushed, his voice was the only thing I could make out in the thickening darkness.

“Remember Jon,” I breathed, through my bloody mouth. “Death is the _true_ enemy.”

I gave out one last sigh, and let my eyes close, surrendering to the impenetrable darkness.

 


	43. Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Bronn**

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the wedding?” The Queen looked at me from the corner of her eye, before she averted her gaze back to the long line of the soldiers marching downhill. I couldn’t understand why she looked so satisfied with them, there were no more special than any sellswords I’ve come across in my lifetime.

“Haven’t you something to do?” she lightly asked, her lips barely moving as she uttered it.

“Aye,” I rapped out, and adjusted the straps of armour tighter around my waist. “I’m doing it.”

She turned her head towards me, those hazel-green eyes studying me much longer than I would like. “Your supposed to be invisible.”

“I’m supposed to protect ya,” I retorted. “And I’m doing a fine job at it, if I may say so myself.”

She moved away from the parapets, not wanting to overlook the castle walls any further. “I have the Mountain for that.”

“That zombie!” I yelled after her. “He gives me the creeps.”

“He is efficient,” she answered me, as she laid her bare hands on the frozen railing.

“I never liked him.” I skipped over the steps two at a time, making myself ahead of the Queen as I added, “Jamie never liked him either.”

“Jamie is…” she pursed her lips in anger. “Is no longer important. I don’t want you to speak of him again.”

I leaned myself against the other side of the bannister, watching her step down the last of the stony steps. “Why not? He’s your brother.” I smiled at her in pure jest when I added, “And I know you always _preferred_ that one.”

She ignored me, though I saw a look of warning in her eyes as she passed by. Cersei intertwined her fingers together and laid it over her stomach as she walked down the narrow hallway, her steps were silent and sure as she passed the Golden Cloaks lined up on either side of the wall. “I see you are keeping them in order,” she relayed, once she sensed my presence just beside her.

“Aye, they are easy! Nothing much to them… and its far easier when you have two hands.”

She gave me that warning look again, and I replied with a satisfied smug. “What do you want, Bronn?”

“A castle,” I quipped. “I served all three of you Lannister’s now, and I’ve got nothing to show for it.”

“You have a knighthood.”

“A knight doesn’t get paid,” I reminded her. “And I’m stuck with all you fancy folks.”

“I can easily undo your knighthood if you’d like.”

“Aye, that is tempting.” I squinted the lids of my eye at her. “But its much easier to get a girl when your knighted. Even more so, if I had a castle.”

“A castle,” she said in a tense voice. “You are the head of the Golden Cloaks. What use would a castle be to you?”

“A Lannister pays their debts. Isn’t that the saying?” I let out a deep sigh in frustration before I added, “I just want to know how long I have to wait until I get it?”

“You will get it.”

“When?” I asked through gritted teeth and found myself standing right in front of her in anger.

“Do you wish to intimidate me?” she asked with a dangerous look in her eyes.

“I just want a fucking answer.”

“When this war is over, and all my enemies have fallen than you will have the chance to choose whatever castle you like.”

“And a wife,” I jeered. “I was promised a wife.”

“You can’t find one on your own?”

“I’d prefer to have the finest one out there, and I entrust the Lannister’s to give it to me.”

She smiled at me, but it wasn’t a genuine one- there was something malevolent in her look. “You may speak to my brothers a certain way, but you shall not to do so with me. I remember how you led Jamie down to the caverns of the Red Keep to meet with the imp. I know how quick you are to change sides-”

“I did not change sides,” I interrupted. “You’re all the same. Every last one of you blonde headed fuckers.”

She struck me in the face with the palm of her hand, and I winced from the sharp pain she gave me. “Another word from you and I’ll cut out your tongue,” she hissed.

 _The bitch,_ I thought, as I watched her walk away from me. The sound alone made the rest of the guards turn in my direction, so I swaggered towards them and yelled out, “What the fuck are you looking at? Get back to work!”

“I’m done with the Lannisters,” I grumbled, after I rubbed the side of my cheek irritably. I gave them all a threatening look before I strode down the length of the hall after her.

* * *

I saw the Queen to her quarters from a distance, grateful when the door closed behind her to end the awkward gap between us. I made sure there was a guard positioned outside her door before I began to wander around the castle. There was music coming from the main dining room, so I peaked around the corner to see a line of lovely ladies dancing to the tune. _Well, you look at that,_ I thought, as I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorway to see their yellow dresses flapping in the air before it fell to their bare legs.

A middle-aged woman was choreographing the dance, instructing the young ladies to move a certain way to appease the Queen and future King of Westeros. _The cunt,_ I thought, as I noticed the black and golden kraken flag hovering from the ceiling. _He doesn’t deserve to be King of the Seven Kingdoms._

The girl’s giggles distracted my wandering thoughts, and I saw them huddling in a circle whispering to one another. One of them pointed me out, so I stood up straighter and leaned my arm against the doorway to emphasis my large figure. “Hello Ladies!” I called out to them, and that earned me louder giggles.

“Do you mind?” the elderly lady asked and shooed her hand at me, so I would take her meaning. I strode into the room instead, swaggering with a handsome grin directed at the tall brunette that caught my attention.

“Ser Bronn of Blackwater,” I introduced myself to the crowd of women. “Head of the Golden Cloaks.”

“That’s very nice, but we need to practice, Ser.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” I raised both of my eyebrows at her in a teasing manner as I laughed, “I’ll just stand here and watch.”

“You would be a distraction.”

“Would I?” The smile I wore only grew wider as I looked over the spinster’s shoulder. “A handsome lad like me distracting these pretty young girls.”

“You would,” she flatly said. “I suggest you go.”

I rolled my eyes at her, and then stuck my tongue out my mouth halfway when I saw the brunette smile at me. “Alright, I’ll go,” I lied, and made my way to the door, only to lean against the doorframe again.

“All the way, Ser.”

“I’m not in the room!”

“We can still see you,” she said over the music that was now starting to play again.

“How about this?” I yelled across the room. “I’ll dance with you all.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes,” I rebutted, and started to dance my way into the room. The ladies laughed at me, so I went over to them and grabbed the brunette’s hand to show how to truly move.

“Ser,” the spinster pleaded, her hair falling out of place and down her shoulders in exasperation. “Could you not take this outside?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I teased, and wrapped my arm around the girl’s waist to lead her out the room. “What’s your name, pretty thing,” I said in a husky voice once I pinned her against the wall, just outside the room. She was swaying to the music that still could be heard, her dark eyes dancing in the dim lighting as she looked at me. “Daisy.”

“Daisy, have you ever had a good fucking?” She blushed at that, which told me how truly inexperienced she was. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Would you like too?” she asked sweetly, and that only made me press myself to her more.

“Oh, I’d like to do more than that.”

“Alright,” she purred. “After the wedding I’ll meet you here.”

“Why not now?” I asked, as I felt her slipping out of my arms.

“Because I am a dancer, Ser Bronn of Blackwater, and I must practice still.” I laughed at her as I watched her go, taking in that fine ass as she walked through the open-door way. _I still got it,_ I happily thought, and slammed my open hand against the wall before I turned to leave.

I was whistling _The Dornishman’s Wife_ as I sauntered down the hallway, checking each entrance way to ensure there wasn’t anything suspicion going on. There was a lot of guests for the Queen’s wedding, and that meant more unfamiliar faces stalking the Red Keep’s halls. It was mostly Lords and Ladies around, frantically getting ready for the last-minute wedding that the Queen had called once the Golden Company had left the throne room. I found my feet were trailing downwards, taking the steep steps that led to the lower level of the Keep. It was colder down here for some reason, a cold draft billowed past me and made my white cloak float in the arctic wind. The flames down the dark corridor flickered along the walls, and I felt some uneasiness as I walked into the darkened caverns.

“Ser Bronn,” a guard greeted me, once I was in the cell area where the prisoners were kept. “Is there anything the matter?”

“Just taking my usual round,” I answered him, and looked at his small size with amusement. “Anything of interest down here?”

“All quiet, Ser.” He looked to his left down the silent hallway and whispered, “The Mountain is here.”

“The Mountain,” I said in a whimsical voice. “Did the Queen lock him up after all?”

“No, he’s with Qyburn.”

“Ahhh,” I breathed, understanding his meaning. “Who’s the unlucky bastard this time?”

“I’m not sure.” The pounding of footsteps echoed down the long corridor, and I found my hand had instinctively wrapped around the hilt of my sword.

“Ser Bronn,” a grating voice echoed from the darkness.

I stood up taller, trying to hide the nagging fear that was coming over me as I saw the tall figure of the Mountain in the firelight. Those pale blue eyes looked down at me with coldness, and I found my hand tightening around my hilt further. “There is nothing to be afraid of…” Qyburn appeared out of the shadows with his hands innocently in the air. “He means you no harm.”

“If you say so.”

Qyburn looked at the guard and I with curiosity, a slight nod of his head told us he had already made up his mind about the pair of us. “You are quite safe, Ser.”

“Alright.”

“Has the Queen sent for me?”

“No, she hasn’t.” I pressed my hand to the side of my face in remembrance before I added, “We are not exactly on speaking terms right now.”

“You have angered her,” he noted. “Then maybe you should become familiar with these cells, it is where she keeps all those who have displeased her.”

“Then Euron will be the next one here,” I gibed, and laughed at my own joke. The guard beside me laughed, but I had a feeling it was only meant to end the awkward silence from the strange pair. “It is their wedding night after all.”

“You have a curious mind, Ser Bronn. I should like to examine it.”

I swallowed hard, not knowing if he meant it or was he simply trying to intimidate me. “I think you have enough patients down here. The poor fuckers.” I straightened my back to show I was still in control and stated, “Well, I still have to finish my round-”

“Yes, you must be very busy,” Qyburn slyly interjected. “The wedding must be taking a toll on you all.”

“We’re managing.”

“I have much work to do as well.” He cracked his knuckles nervously, as he looked up at the Mountain. “We still have to prepare Cersei’s wedding present. Will you excuse me.”

They passed me by like silent shadows and I found myself pressed against the wall until they were fully gone from my view. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” I mumbled, completely forgetting the guard was right beside me. “I’m going to finish my round,” I lied, and pushed myself off the wall so I could get out of there as fast as I could. Not wanting to run into Qyburn again, I went down the path they came from, my sword in hand just in case I ran into any trouble.

There was a low sniffling sound coming from one of the prison cells, these ones were sealed with an iron door, but a small window allowed me to peak inside. I leaned against the door and laughed through the tiny window, making the woman turn her fierce looking face at me. “What a small world this is,” I chuckled, and shot her a dashing grin. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you. Oh, wait! The time Trystane Martell had his monkey slug me.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” she respite fully said, her Dornish accent coming out in full strength.

“Looks like you ended up worse than him,” I relayed, once I took in her haggard appearance. She was all bones now, her long straggly hair coming down past her shoulders. Her once beautiful cheekbones jutted out of her face, but her eyes retained the same willfulness as before.

“Have you come to insult me?”

“No, I have better things to do.”

“Like suck the Lannister’s cock.”

“What I suck has nothing to do with you.” She spat on the ground beside her, and it was only then that I took in the skeleton pushed off to the corner. “What the hell is that?” I murmured, quite forgetting she was watching me still.

“That is my daughter,” she droned.

“Tyene?” I asked with some uneasiness.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” I took a step away from the window, surprised to feel a sense of guilt come over me.

“I will kill her,” Ellaria Sand swore. “She forgets the words of House Martell: Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken.”

I took a step forward again, taking in the wildness of the woman as she paced across the room like an angry lion. “Why do you help them?” she asked me suddenly and stopped in her tracks to catch my changing expression.

“Because the pay is good… at least it used to be.”

“Dorne will pay you more.”

“Dorne can barely take care of themselves,” I pointed out. “Once Trystane died that was the end of the dynasty.”

“Trystane was weak. It is the Sand snakes that was supposed to lead our people. It was those who were loyal to Oberyn who knew what is best for _our_ country.”

“Save that for someone who cares! I’m just a sellsword-”

“You are a knight who sucks the lion’s cock,” she rebutted. “And now I offer you the chance to suck nobody but yourself.” She leaned against the iron door and exclaimed, “Take me out of King’s Landing and I will give you everything you ever wanted.”

“I want a castle.”

“Why have castle when you can have a palace?”

“I want a castle.”

“Castle’s are cold and dreary looking. In Dorne it is hot, even in winter. Why have a castle buried in snow, when you can have a palace all to yourself and a bed warmed frequently by our women.”

“Aye, bed warmers. I can get them anywhere.”

“You have not heard of our women?” she said in a seductive voice.

“Oh, I’ve heard of them.”

“They’d be dancing up your cock night and day,” she relayed. “And would never get tired of it.”

 _Fuck,_ I thought, as I felt myself harden already. “How do I know you will keep your word?”

She scratched the side of her head, looking downwards at the skeleton that was locked away in the corner. “Because I have been waiting for my revenge for several months now, and I am done _waiting._ I will give you what I have promised, and more.”

“I want a palace and a Dornish wife.” I paused and stroked the side of my beard meditatively. “And I want her to be a fighter like Tyene.”

“Then you shall have it.”

“And no fucking around,” I warned. “Or I’ll have you locked back here before the Queen’s wedding is through.”

“She is marrying tonight?” she asked, her accent made the arrangement sound even more absurd.

“To that cunt, Euron, then yes.”

“She has no idea what kind of monster she is bringing into her bed.” She smiled in my direction, but it was not a happy smile that spread across her face. “I only wish I was there to see it.”

I lifted the lock and opened the door with my sword pointed at her. _She better not double cross me,_ I thought, as I watched her stagger out the room with the little strength she had. “I am weak,” she related. “This will take more time than I would have wished.”

“Will make it.”

“You better hope so.” She looked at me sadly, the lids of her eyes closing as she muttered, “The Mountain will not be so kind to you, as he was with me.”

“He looked like he did some damage,” I noted, as I caught the deep scars carved into her skin in the firelight as we made our way down the hall.

“Oh, he has,” she whimpered, a moment of weakness for her before she raised her head with a sudden willfulness.

“I hear something,” I grumbled, and motioned her to lean against the wall just in case a guard was coming our way. The sound grew louder, so I went on my toes and crept past the closed cells until I saw a bent figure trying to pick at a lock. “Stop right there!” I warned and held up my sword in his direction. He trembled violently, once he saw my weapon and let his makeshift key drop to the ground.

“I’m unarmed,” he announced, and raised his hands to show his words were true.

“Go to the wall,” I instructed. “Put your hands behind your back.”

He was trembling once I stood behind him. I was trying to get a piece of rope I always carried with me from one of my pockets when I glanced upwards, a soft footfall caught my attention, so I pushed the boy into the wall further and darted my blade upwards to the approaching steps. I slightly relaxed once I saw it was only Ellaria Martell creeping down the hallway. “That is Theon,” she proclaimed, and strode towards me at a brisk pace. “He is our ally.”

“Anyone who see’s us here is our enemy.”

Theon grunted once I shoved him harder to the wall, he tilted his head to the side to snivel out, “I’m here to help!”

“Help,” I laughed. “You think I need your help?”

Ellaria laid her scrawny hand on my shoulder to get my attention. “He is on our side, let him go.”

The boy trembled once I released my grip, and it took him a few seconds to compose himself. “I came for my sister,” he whimpered, and turned his gaze back to the iron sealed door.

“Yara?” Ellaria said with disbelief and ran to the door to look through the small opening. “She’s asleep?”

“Unconscious,” I muttered. “I think the Mountain and Qyburn had a bit of fun with her.”

“Get her out of there!”

“That wasn’t apart of the contract.”

“Get-her-out!”

I grunted and shoved the two of them aside to lift the heavy latch. “You don’t need a key for this one,” I snarled over my shoulder. “Just a bit of muscle, see?”

The lock burst open and Theon was quick to swing the door open to check on his sister. “They could be back any minute,” I reminded the pair of them. “And I don’t want to be here to see them.”

Theon lifted his sister into the air and carried her out the door. “There’s a backway,” he muttered. “Let’s go!”

“I think I know all the secret passageways,” I argued. “And there is no backway.”

Theon laid his sister on the ground and twisted a small circular hatch on the floor. He shifted it to the side and blurted out, “Anything else you would like to add?”

“It smells like shit!”

“Afraid you’ll dirty your pretty white cloak?”

I shook my head at him and moved him aside, so I could pick up the unconscious girl. “I want the largest palace you can find!”

Ellaria gave me a mocking grin, as she made her way to the gaping hole in the ground. “You will.”

“I better,” I shot out, before I ducked into the sewer hole with the girl in my arms. _And a good fucking too._


	44. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

“I have always admired your talents, Lord Varys. I had _hoped_ that your little birds would be a benefit to our house.”

“Which house exactly?” Lord Varys interrupted, as he was paraded down the throne room with two of my guards on either side of him. “Yours or your wife?”

“I had thought they were one in the same,” I replied from the corner of my mouth.

“Oh please,” he exasperated. “We all know you only wish to serve yourself.”

“I serve my wife,” I quipped. “And my Queen. Who do you serve?”

“I serve the same Queen as you,” he said in a soft, velvety voice.

I made eye contact with the guards and waved them away from me. “Leave us!” I commanded and nodded my head slowly at them, so they would leave us without another word.

“You were always a man of secrets,” Varys prompted, once the throne room closed behind him. “What have you to say that you don’t wish your guards to hear?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” I quipped. “This shall be a private trial-”

“A trial?” he said with surprise. “That might explain why my hands are tied.”

“Does it feel strange having it at the back?” I smiled at him with a look of pleasure. “You look like a tied-up pigeon.”

“Your worst insult, I’m sure.”

“That was no insult, Varys, it was an observation.”

He rolled his eyes at me, before he turned his gaze to my wife at my left. “How do you manage to put up with him? I must admit when I heard the two of you were married, I couldn’t believe it. But then I thought… Littlefinger always had a weakness for Tully coloured hair. It is a shame that you were the last one, like the scraps at the end of the meal.”

“Careful, Varys!” I warned him. “Or that will be the last word you say.”

“Have I touched a sensitive spot? How can I forget the look you had when you realized you had to marry Lysa Arryn. But this one is much younger, I can understand the exchange.”

“What do you want?” Sansa piped up, and the severe tone of her voice demanded an answer.

“I want to know who Lord Baelish really supports. I want to know what he is up too.”

“You need only ask, old friend.”

“You and I both know that isn’t our way.”

“I imagine…” I leaned back on my chair to get a good look at him. “You’ve done this in King’s Landing as well. Swipe letters, read them and them put them back as if they were never missing.”

Varys smiled at me with a cunning gesture. “Pycelle was so very busy with his whores, it wasn’t much effort to slip into his office every now and then.”

“I know,” I assented, with an equally cunning smile. “I’ve done it as well.”

“Funny, that we never ran into each other. Did you hide behind the door when I crept in?”

“No, it would never come to that.” I blinked at him slowly, noticing the pale grey light from the windows illuminating his sallow face. “It was never I who hid behind things, Varys.”

“We all have our gifts,” he said with a small shrug. “Why am I here?”

It was Sansa who spoke up now: “Because you took something that does not belong to you.”

“Information belongs to me, my Lady.”

“Information that was addressed to me,” I reminded him.

“Lord of Winterfell,” Varys said with a sarcastic voice, his chest rose and fell as he uttered it. “Tell me, do you repeat that over and over as you lay in bed at night.”

“My nights are far more preoccupied,” I assured him.

“You can only produce an heir one at a time,” he shot back.

“Fucking is just not for producing heirs,” I jeered. Sansa laid her hand on my forearm, quietly telling me to end this conversation before I took it to far. “What do you do at night, Varys? Look at that gash down below and wish you could grow one back?”

“My nights are just as preoccupied as yours,” he replied with the lids of his eyes narrowing at me. “I know you have spies on me, so I have taken it upon myself to move around in the cover of night.”

“And what do you hope to gain from it?”

“I want to keep an eye on you. Just as you keep an eye on me?”

“Was that you under the bed last night?” I quipped, while leaning forward to get a better look at him.

“Oh please,” he said with an annoyed nod of his head. “As if that is a valuable use of my time. Believe me when I say I can already hear the two of you from my chamber.”

“You must be aching to touch yourself.”

‘I am aching to cover my ears.”

“Varys!” my wife shouted out. “Why did you take the letter?”

He looked at the pair of us, as if he was sizing us up. “Information. I made an oath to serve Queen Daenerys and that is what I intend to do.”

“How is taking our letter serving your Queen?”

“I want to know what she is thinking? And to see just how far Lord Baelish is deceiving her.”

I cleared my throat to get his intention before I rapped out, “I have no wish to deceive the Dragon Queen.”

“You do realize she is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and the one who must sit on the Iron Throne, don’t you?” Varys raised his head proudly, staring me down with a knowing look in his eye. “Just when you think that ugly chair is in your grasp someone else gets in the way.”

“Long live the Queen,” I answered him, with a deadly look in my eye.

“You cannot destroy all your enemies.”

“No,” I interjected. “You make peace with them.”

“And then stab them in the back when they least expect it.”

“I am all to familiar with that,” I said without thinking, while raising my hand to my throat. _Fuck,_ I thought, and looked at Sansa’s pained expression in the corner of my eye.

“A jab at your wife,” Varys tutted. “How low can you go?”

I laid my hand on Sansa’s sleeve, leaning into her to whisper, “Sansa, sweetling-”

“It’s fine,” she said with bitterness.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“It’s forgotten,” she lied, her eyes intent on staring at the man in front of us. “We serve Queen Daenerys; therefore, you have nothing to fear.”

“It is you who should be in fear! Daenerys has an army and two dragons, if Lord Baelish wishes to betray her-”

“It is you who will do the betraying! If you haven’t done so already.”

Varys tutted at us, shaking his head in agitation after my words. “I will only betray you, if you betray _her._ ”

“Such blind loyalty to a Queen who was so eager to send you away.”

“I do what is good for the realm,” he answered me.

“The realm that is torn into pieces,” I pointed out. “And will be even more so by the time the war in the North is over.”

“I have heard…” Varys raised an eyebrow at me with a tell-tale look. “That Harrold Hardyng received a handsome sum before he was able to take over the Vale. I have often wondered who financed his little band of rebellions.”

“One who was eager to see him rule the Vale,” I answered him.

“And one who saw his alliance with Lord Robin was no longer warranted.”

“Warranted?” I said with a smile. “I’d say no longer _advantageous._ ”

“You are so quick to befriend and then betray,” Lord Varys said in a quiet tone of voice. “One has to wonder how long it will be before you do so to Lady Sansa?”

It was my wife who stood up in her seat and went around the table to stand in front of Varys. I half leaned off my seat, trying to catch the expression of the irrating cockles man after she slapped him in the face. “You will not speak to my husband and I that way again,” she commanded.

He bowed his head at her in silent submission, before she turned away from him. “I am contemplating whether I should take off your head,” I jeered, with a terrible expression as I caught the red hand mark across his face. “Sansa, what do you think?”

She stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulders at the sullen looking man. “Why should we keep you alive?”

“Because I can help you.”

“You are not helping us,” she argued. “We treat you as a guest, and you thank us by stealing our letters and sneaking around Winterfell like a common thief.”

“I wish no harm on the both of you.”

“And yet, you are determined to tear Petyr and I apart.”

 _Oh, I’m enjoying this,_ I thought, and leaned back against my silver throne like an audience member enjoying a fantastical performance.

“I am only trying to warn you-”

“I don’t need your help,” She cut in. “I need you to stay out of our way.”

“My Lady,” he pleaded. “I have known Lord Baelish longer than you have. Do not put all your trust in this man.”

“And put it in you!” I yelled over the long wooden table. “That’s the worst advice you have ever given, Varys.”

“Put it in yourself,” he replied, with an earnest gaze upon her person. “That child… how much do you value it?” He paused, as he watched Sansa lay a hand over her stomach. “Not as much as him, I’m sure. When that child is born he will no longer need you, and then you will follow the same fate much like your Aunt Lysa.”

“Liar!” she shrilled and stormed towards him. “All you spill out is lies to me.”

“Lies, always have some shred of truth. Lord Baelish is well aware of that fact.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Has your husband been entirely honest with you?” he asked, while looking over my wife’s shoulder with a strange smile spreading across his face. _What does he know,_ I wondered, as I forced a poker-face once my wife turned her head in my direction. “When we were in King’s Landing, we always found out each other’s secrets. For example, your husband’s role in Lord Stark’s death.”

“I already know about that,” she quipped, though her voice quivered as she uttered it.

“Littlefinger has had a hand in _everything,_ my Lady. He has been the demise of so many people. The Arryns are a perfect example of that… don’t let that be your fate as well?”

There was a silence after that, Sansa ever so elegant and in control was now fulminating under the mask that she was trying to wear. _She is starting to believe him,_ I realized, and felt a twisting feeling at the bottom of my stomach. _Its now time to turn the tables._

“I have found our friendship to be profitable for a time,” I mused aloud. “But now, I see that it must come to an end.”

“With my head, I’m sure,” he cooed, with a sad little smile.

“I am tempted to take up your offer.”

“That would only prove I’m right.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Lady Sansa agrees with me,” he said with relish. “I can see it by the look in her eye.”

“You are so familiar with my wife’s gestures,” I snarled, and found myself rising from my seat.

“I am familiar with all ladies’ gestures,” he coolly replied. “And what happens when they take my side. Ros would be a perfect example.”

Sansa turned around to face me, a puzzled expression came across her face. “What does he mean by that?”

“I believe she became King Joffrey’s play thing before she had a violent end.”

“She betrayed me,” I rapped out. “And fed information to this cockless man in front of me.”

“And you retaliated in kind.”

“Petyr,” my wife breathed, and looked at me with a pained expression. She was inching away from us now, her hand clutching her stomach protectively.

“I would never betray you,” I reminded her, as I went around the table to be at her side.

“I have heard those words before,” Varys piped up. “And ‘Long live the King.’ So, you see why I could never trust that silver tongue of yours.”

“That’s enough,” I warned now that I was tired of hearing his voice.

“Lord Varys,” Sansa said in a quiet voice. “You will be placed into our prison’s cells until I decide what to do with you.”

She looked at me with a sternness in her eye. “Petyr, I should like to speak with you… _alone._ ”

* * *

 _Checkmate._ I knew what Varys was thinking when he looked over his shoulder, as the Winterfell guards escorted him away.

 _I’m in the dog house now,_ I thought, after Sansa left me to straggle after her. Her steps were brisk as she strode down the hall, forcing me to stretch out my legs just to reach her. “Sansa,” I entreated, but she ignored me and picked up the pace further.

“Sansa,” I repeated, and reached for her arm but she brushed it away. “Don’t touch me,” she warned in a low tone of voice.

I trailed behind her, realizing she needed the space to mull over the words that Varys so cleverly spewed out. _He always did know what to say,_ I admitted, as I found my fingers curling together until they created a balled fist.

_He’s a good player too, but the game is far from over._

I heard my chamber room door close from a distance, and by the time I reached it I found the door locked. “Sansa, open the door,” I drawled, realizing this was our first fight since we were married. “You know I have a key.”

There was no reply, so I reached deep into my pockets and fingered the set of keys. “Open it,” I repeated, but it was to no avail. I had no choice but to insert the key into the lock and push it open to find her in the center of the room with her hair half-done and her cloak already off her shoulders.

“Your sleeping on the floor,” she told me, as she went over to the desk to throw her winter things on the table.

“Are you really going to listen to that little bird,” I answered her, as I locked the door behind me.

“What he said was true,” she stated, and strung her fingers through her braids to undo them quickly.

“Not all of it.”

“But most of it,” she countered, and walked away from me to go to the foot of the bed.

“He is just trying to get in between us,” I reminded her. “He knows we have a history and is using it _against_ us.”

“I am trying to forgive you,” she bellowed. “Everyday, I have to find the strength to shut my eyes and forget what happened.” She undid the last of her braids and fluffed out her hair irritably. “Lysa,” she mentioned with a dark expression. “Ramsay,” she added.

“Don’t bring his name into this.”

“Why not?” she roared. “You just think I can forget him? You don’t think these scars are a daily reminder of him?”

I tightened my jaw, realizing just how far Varys words had got to her. _Now, I’m really in trouble._

“Your silent,” she observed. “For once that blessed tongue of yours can’t come to your aid.”

“I am sorry for what I did to you.”

“Sorry,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, _Petyr._ ”

I noticed the tone of her voice when she uttered my name, and that alone made me narrow my eyes at her. “You’re still blaming me, aren’t you?”

“It was you that practically sold me to the Boltons.”

“I didn’t-”

She put her hand up to silence me. “You treated me just the same as your whores.”

“I didn’t!”

“You betrayed me- lied to me.”

“Sansa, I-”

“Used me!” she screamed, and I knew then that this was over.

“Sansa, I love you,” I reminded her. “Don’t do this to me- to _us._ ”

“You think I can just forget all the things that you’ve done? All the things that you continue to do. What if Varys is right? You are so quick to betray the ones that are close to you, how do I know you won’t do it to me again?”

“I won’t,” I pleaded, and stretched out my hand towards her but she quickly moved away.

“Don’t touch me,” she pleaded. “When I think of everything you’ve done, you’re the last person I want to touch me.”

I let out a long sigh of defeat, feeling everything I was doing so far was wrong. _I am only making it worse._

“You just pretend that it never happened.” Sansa moved away from the foot of the bed in disgust and made her way to the empty fireplace. “We _never_ talk about Ramsay. We _never_ talk about the past.”

“The past is forgotten.”

“The past shapes our future!”

“I can’t forget it, Petyr,” she wailed. “I can’t go back to my father’s chambers because I remember being locked away there until Ramsay visited me at night.” She covered her face in agony as she continued, “I can’t go to certain parts of Winterfell because then I remember… I can’t go down to the crypts without thinking about the possibility that Arya is dead and her bones will never be buried there.” She clawed her fingers on the stone wall atop of the fireplace, digging those sharp nails into the hard surface. “I can’t sleep sometimes, because I’ll dream of him. I know you know this, and you pretend you don’t see it, but you do!”

“I thought it best-”

“No!” she shouted and raised her hand to silence me again. “You think its best to just sweep it under the rug, but you can’t.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I entreated, as I took long strides towards her.

“You don’t want me to get mad at you,” she countered. “Blame you.”

“It was a foolish mistake.”

“Foolish,” she scoffed. “What was foolish was marrying you!”

“You don’t mean that,” I said with a faltered voice.

“I do,” she shouted, and slammed her open hand into the rocky wall. “Right now, I do regret it. And this child!”

“No,” I roared, and reached for her but she quickly moved away and picked up an iron rod to point it at my chest. “I said don’t touch me!”

“Put it down or someone will get hurt.”

“Like me?”

“No, like our child.”

“Our child,” she wailed. “Will you get rid of me once the baby is born?”

“Why would you think such a thing?” I motioned for her to put the rod down, but she only raised it higher to my chest.

“You just need it, don’t you,” she spat out. “And then what will you do with it? Wait for the perfect opportunity to take the Iron Throne and then have our child sit on it.”

I grunted at her, feeling a tenseness in my arms before I snatched the rod out of her hands and threw it to the floor behind me. “You are letting his words get to you!”

“Only because they are true,” she rebutted.

I walked towards her, but she quickly took a step back. “It’s not true,” I murmured through gritted teeth. “Sansa, you know that its not true.”

“I don’t know anything, anymore. I don’t even know if I can _trust_ you anymore.”

 “Sansa, please,” I begged.

“What if Bran was right? What if its _you_ that will betray me?”

“No,” I droned, and shook my head at her frantically. “Its not.”

“What if you’ve done it already?”

My feet halted for a second, and she caught it with those sharp blue eyes of hers. “You’ve done it already, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Your lying to me, just like you lie to everyone else.”

“I haven’t. Sansa, sweetling, you have to believe me.”

“No.” She walked past me and went into the bathroom with the door shut behind her. “Let me be,” she warned, after I knocked on the door, so I could come in.

“Sansa, come out. We need to talk about this.”

“We already talked, and I made up my mind.”

 _She’s going to leave me,_ I panicked. “Sansa, open up the door!”

“You needn’t worry, Petyr, I won’t harm that precious child of yours.”

“This isn’t funny.”

There was a sound of splashing water as if she was wetting her face and hands, so I left her and retreated to my bed. My clothes were thrown off with bitterness, and I threw on my robe and left my trousers on just in case she thought I was trying to make it up to her in an unsavoury manner. She eventually opened the door, pale blue eyes locked onto my own sad blue- she looked away and rounded to the other side of the bed before she ducked under the covers for some peace and quiet.

“Am I to sleep on the floor?” I asked in a teasing manner.

“I’d make you sleep with the dogs,” she muttered. “But that sounds too much like Ramsay.”

“I am sorry for what he did to you. I can only wish I could repay him in kind.”

“I already had my revenge, Petyr. Your too late.”

I walked over to her side of the bed, taking in that marvelous shade of red pillowed across the top of the bed. Her eyes took me in sadly, threatening to spill over with tears the longer she looked at me. “I hate you,” she mumbled, and shut her eyes then before a tear could trickle down her cheek.

“Your allowed to hate me,” I mused aloud. “For what I’ve done to you.”

“And my family,” she reminded me, and I felt a dagger twist in my chest the second I thought of Arya Stark. _If she only knew what I’ve done to her._

“I want you to sleep on the floor,” she hushed, and turned her body away from me. “And be happy your still in the room.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

I grabbed a blanket and my pillow before I positioned it next to the cold fireplace. It was colder here, and I wasn’t used to not having Sansa’s body heat warming me up. _I’m no worse than Varys,_ I mused, as I fluffed up the pillow to support my weary head. The room was dark now, night had fallen upon us quicker than we both expected, and it was only a spare candle next to her nightstand that illuminated our room. Sansa was silent, only her tossing and turning across the bed could be heard. I was as motionless as a corpse, my eyes straying to the small crack between the blinds to look at the dark sky. It was not snowing for once, but that didn’t mean that winter wasn’t here. My eyes were just about to close when Sansa muttered, “Come back to bed.”

I raised my head expectedly, trying to catch a glimpse of her from atop the bed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she drawled, and sat up on the headboard so she could see me. “We need to talk.”

I gathered my things and placed it on my side, before I slipped under the covers. Her cold hand touched the top of my thigh, and that was enough for me to move closer to her only frigid form. “What is it?” I whispered, once I laid my own back against the headboard as well.

“You need to be honest with me.” She paused and licked the bottom of her lips nervously. “Was Varys right about anything he said back there?”

“Most of it, but I would never betray you Sansa.” I paused and laid my hand atop of hers. “And I want our child to come, but not for the reasons he said.”

“How do I know what you say is true?”

“Because I love you,” I simply said. “And I want us to have a family.”

“So, you’ve said before,” she said with feigned indifference. “But you say a lot of things.”

“It’s true. I do want to have a family with you,” I laid a kiss to the side of her cheek. “And I want us to be happy… you to be happy.”

“I was,” she admitted. “But now…”

“Forget what he said, it was only to save his own skin.”

“No, he was trying to warn me,” she stated, and inched her head away from mine purposely. “Everyone is always trying to warn me about you.”

“Because they know how dangerous I am.”

“Too dangerous,” she assented. “Even for me.”

“I would never hurt you.”

She slid down in the bed in answer and turned her body away from me. “Goodnight, Petyr,” she coolly replied, before she shut her eyes in a feeble attempt to sleep.

“Now, where’s my goodnight kiss?” I teased and followed her movements until I was right on top of her.

“Be happy you’re in the bed with me,’ she replied, while her eyes were still closed.

“I’d be happier with a kiss.” She turned to me and pecked my lips swiftly before she rolled back to her side. “Now, now that wasn’t proper.”

“It’s all you deserve.” I let my fingers glide down her hair, admiring that auburn shade in the pale moonlight. She felt my hand rest on the sides of her temples, gliding it downwards in a soothing manner. _She’s ignoring me,_ I thought, we’ll see how long that lasts. I leaned over and kissed her temples lightly, and then strayed to her cold cheek. “Don’t,” she piped up, but made no effort to move.

“My sweet wife won’t let me kiss her?” I laid my soft lips on her cheek again, longer this time to see if she would move. “Will she let me kiss her lips as well?”

“She won’t.”

“Then I will find somewhere else to kiss her,” I said with a grin, and dragged the blanket down so I could see her bare arm. I nipped at her skin there, and once I grew bored I went upwards and kissed along her shoulder slowly. “Your so cold,” I noted, and went up to her collarbone to suck at her skin. “I’ll keep you warm.” She moved a little, once my goatee tickled her sensitive skin and I just knew I would have her soon enough.

“Don’t let me kick you out of the bed.”

“Would you rather we do it on the floor?”

“Petyr,” she warned, and moved away from me, but soon found herself at the edge of the bed. I laughed at her in triumphant and grabbed a hold of her shoulders to face me. “Let me be.”

“My silly wife,” I chuckled, and leaned forward to kiss her lips deeply. Her mouth was warm, and her lips were soft, and I used that to my advantage as I kissed her harder until she opened her mouth to let me in. My tongue poked at her, as if I was trying to awaken the beast, but she let it stay where it was. I decided to take a different avenue, and slid myself on top of her, making the blankets fall off her shoulder so I could kiss along her neck and down her chest. “My silly wife is wearing a dress,” I observed aloud. “She doesn’t not know how to come to bed to please her husband.”

“Her husband does not deserve to be pleased.”

“No,” I agreed with her. “So, he will have to please her.” I rounded my lips around her hardened nipples, ignoring the cloth that stood in my way. My other hand clutched at her left one, kneading my thumb into the side as it rose and fell beneath my fingers. She let out a small gasp, reluctantly of course, but enough for me to raise my eye in her direction and catch that fleeting look of desire.

“Petyr, stop,” she scolded me, and moved my hand away from her breast. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Your body is saying otherwise,” I observed, already smelling her sex beneath the sheets.

“No,” she chided, and rolled back to her side of the bed. _Very well,_ I thought, and shifted to my empty side of the bed that had more room than usual. _Let her come to me._

It wasn’t long when Sansa piped up: “I’m still angry with you, you know.”

“I thought that was fairly obvious,” I responded, while stroking the length of my goatee.

“You don’t deserve this,” she noted, before she rolled to my side and took a hold of my arm. “Make it quick.”

I laughed as I went on top of her, straddling her with pleasure. “Quick,” I murmured, before my fingers worked the dress off her. “I could never do that. I learned my lesson on our wedding night, remember?”

“The night you gave me this,” she responded with her hands over her belly.

I leaned forward and kissed her there, letting my hands glide along the side of her stomach soothingly. “I did, didn’t I?”

She took her hands to the sides of my temples to level my face with hers. “I’m almost sure of it.”

“Let me kiss you,” I muttered, and quickly bent forward to catch those delightful lips of hers. _She tastes_ _good,_ I acknowledged, as she eagerly kissed me back with strange fervour. Her hands were on both sides of my face as she kissed me, drawing me forward until I laid against her own. Our kisses were loud and fierce, full of desire as each one gave as good the other. Her tongue slipped into mine suddenly, dancing with my own with unexpected eagerness. I shed off my robe with desperation, stringing it along the side of the bed beside me before I took a hold of her frame.

“Oh, Petyr,” she moaned, after she felt my hands descend to her inner thighs, trailing it around her sex before I spread her lips wide enough to dig a finger inside. She wriggled against my finger, hips shaking against my hand that was quickly putting her on a high. Her kiss-swollen lips rested on my shoulder as she let out quick breaths, and I in turn kissed her down the side of her neck as she let out a small moan. Sansa pressed her hips harder to my hand, rocking against me with uncontrollable desire. “I want more,” she whined, and drew my hand away so she could have the true object of desire.

“Sansa, sweelting, I don’t think I can control myself if I do.”

She pulled down my trousers in reply, happy to see the hardened swell ready to greet her. “There it is,” she purred, after she licked her lips.

“Seven Hells, Sansa,” I answered her, as I rubbed my hand up and down my cock. “I have to be careful with you now.”

Her hands went on top of mine, learning the exact way to move her hands so she could please me in future. She was attentive, and once she understood the exact movements her able hands took over to rub my uncomfortably hardened cock. “I’m enjoying this,” she breathed, as she watched the lids of my eyes flicker open and close.

“I can tell,” I wheezed, and went to my knees for her to do it more. “You have me by my balls literally.”

“About time,” she quipped, and leaned forward to kiss my sweaty face and lips. “Oh, Petyr,” she moaned, and kissed my lips at a slow pace, stretching out each one until I came back for more. My moans were drowned out by her kisses, her fingertips rubbing my member profusely. I found myself pushing her hands away and leaning her against the bed, letting my hand explore her sex again before I let myself enter inside of her. Sansa let out a relieved sigh once I began to rock her, she was wet enough for me to slip into her more, clearly aroused to hear my moans earlier as she pleased me.

“Don’t let me get carried away,” I warned her, as I found her nails digging into my sides already. “Our child comes first.”

“Our child,” she cooed, before she let out an elated cry. “Oh, Peeetttyyrrr,” she stretched out, and found her hips rotating and grinding against mine hungrily. Those hands slipped downwards, feeling my toned ass and she slapped it happily. “You make me feel so good,” she breathed, and kissed me to thank me for the high I was giving her. _Now,_ I thought, and drove in a bit deeper when she least expected it. She caught my lips in reply, punishing me with her teeth digging into my bottom lip.

“Careful,” I chuckled, as I drew my lips away. “Mark me here instead,” and pointed at my neck for her to decorate with her teeth. “Show the world how much you love me.”

“How much I want you,” she said through gritted teeth, and nipped at my raw neck with new-found hunger as I rocked her relentlessly.

“Tell me you want me,” I urged her. “Tell me you want this every night.”

“I do,” she breathed into my neck.

I stretched out my neck and muttered, “I want it too, Sansa.”

“Deeper,” she pleaded, but I couldn’t risk any damage to our child.

“No, sweetling, but I can do something instead.” I let my hands dance downwards, and circled along her sex, before I began to rub around it, adding more pressure to the area to make her feel the heatness transcending there. _Its amazing what the fingers can do,_ I thought, as she let out an elated squeal.

She moaned out my name, and I felt that was enough to satisfy her desires. “Sansa, sweetling, kiss me,” I instructed her, and inclined my head away from her breasts so she can arrest her lips with mine. Her hands placed on top of my ass as she steered me forward, wanting me to thrust into her again. She was falling and wanted me to put her on a high again. I answered her with a meager thrust, and then another to quench my own desire once I heard a sound escape her. “I can’t hold this much longer,” I grunted, and thrust into her once more knowing my seed would spill inside of her either way.

“Fuck,” I groaned, once I finally pulled out of her, and watched it spill out of her cunt.

“Its fine,” she assured me, and used the blanket to dabble at her swollen sex. “You weren’t deep enough anways.”

“No…” I smiled up at her. “I wasn’t.”

“I forgive you,” she said in a leveled voice, once her breath returned to her. “It’s forgotten.”

“Thank you, Sansa.”

“But if you ever betray me-”

“- I won’t!”

“If you do,” she countered. “I’ll cut off your balls, no matter how much I like them.”

“Oh, you could never do that,” I said with a menacing grin, as I leveled down to the bed in front of her open legs. “You and I both know that.”

“I will,” she flatly said, ignoring the look in my eye as I stared into her. “And its time for bed.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Bed- Petyr,” she instructed, but I only answered her by placing both of my hands on either side of her thighs, kneading them between my fingertips. “Not until I kiss you goodnight.”

“No.”

“Yes,” I replied, after I bit the corner of my lips at her. “Close your eyes, sweetling, I want to kiss you.”

She put her hands over my loose tresses, curling them between her fingertips before she let me move forwards. She watched me kiss her, just as I said, but her hands inclined my face forward, so I could give her what I truly wanted. “Kiss me goodnight, Petyr,” she ordered, and I blew on her open sex to let the cold air rush in before I drew forwards for a “kiss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a while since I wrote PxS smut. Hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what your predictions of where you think this story is heading? Also, who do you think is going to betray Sansa in the end? 
> 
> Thank you to anyone who is still reading this story. I appreciate all of your support so far, it makes fixing d&d mess all the more bittersweet.


	45. The Lannister's Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Cersei**

Motionless, I let my eyes gaze upon the servants clearing away the dinner plates. The frequent clattering of ceramic plates irritated my nerves, but no more than Euron’s loud slurping as he gulped away another pint of ale. He slammed it down on the table with a long exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hands greedily. “Another one!” he laughed, and eagerly looked down at the serving girl with a lustful gaze; she had a tall, womanly figure with long brown hair tied up in a messy bun. _A single stroke and it_ _would fall to her waist,_ I mused, as my eyes lingered on her form as well. Euron laughed louder as she poured him another drink, letting his eyes fall to her exposed chest until she finally walked away. The company he kept was none the worse, the men from the Iron Islands were loud and untamed as they made a ruckus in the dining room. Already, my servants had a look of fear in their eyes as they served the unruly men, their leader appeared to be the worst of all.

“You’re not eating,” he jeered, with his oily knife pointing at me.

“I am not hungry.”

He stabbed the knife into the center of my plate and scooped the chicken breast into the air before he plopped down into his plate. “More for me!”

“You might as well take my entire plate while you’re at it,” I gibed, and pushed the plate in his direction. He lifted with his large hand and poured it on top of his own food, scrapping the last scraps away with his knife.

 _He’s worse than Robert,_ I thought, as he rose from his seat and pointed to the other end of the long table. “Do it!” he screamed and fell across the table laughing while his fellow men broke into a brawl. I moved back in my seat once plates stared to fly and was pleased to see the Mountain take a large step forward, his large form guarding me from any potential danger.

 _And yet, he cannot protect me from my husband,_ I realized, as he grabbled at my arm harshly to get my attention. “Did you see that!” he shrilled, while he banged his hands on the table. “What are you waiting for? Kill him!”

Three men surrounded a smaller looking sailor, and the next thing I knew they were stabbing him in the chest with their dinner knives to he fell helplessly on the floor. I covered my mouth with horror, and it was enough for Qyburn to come to my rescue. “Your Grace,” he whispered. “Perhaps, it is time to retire.”

“Yes,” I hushed, and nodded my head at him for him to carry out the orders. Qyburn motioned the Mountain to step forward, and soon it stood next to my side as I rose from my seat. “I have lost my appetite,” I explained to my husband. “I shall retire. Will you come with me?”

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, already his eyelids were drooping from his heavy drinking. “The bedding ceremony,” he jeered, and gave me a lecherous grin as he stood from his seat. “My men deserve a treat.”

“Your men have seen enough for one day,” I shot out. “Send them to the whore houses and that will quench their appetite.”

“I promised-”

“I don’t care what you promised,” I snapped. The Mountain took a large step forward between us, which made Euron falter backwards until he bumped into his chair.

“I’ll make sure they can hear your screams,” he barked, and pulled at my arm to lead me away from the dining room. Fortunately for me the Mountain and Qyburn was close behind us, but that didn’t mean Euron would suddenly have a change of heart. “I don’t care if your pregnant,” he wheezed. “I’m still fucking you.”

“I never thought you wouldn’t.”

“And I’ll get rid of the child if I have too.”

“You will do no such thing.”

He cast me a devilish grin that made the breath knock out of my lungs. I stopped in my tracks, which made his grin grow wider. “You didn’t really think I’d let you have that child, did you?”

“You dare murder the Queen’s-”

“I’m the King,” he reminded me, and pointed his knobby finger at my chest. “Which means I could do whatever the hell I want with you.”

“I am the Queen!” I yelled back, before I remembered when my eldest son Joffrey said the exact same thing. _Any man who must say “I am the King” is no true king._

Euron stood in front of me laughing, his head inclined upward as he let out a full-bellied laugh. “I don’t think you understand what I said,” he drawled out in a low, menacing voice. “You are getting rid of that child, whether you like it or not.” He stepped into my space, bending forward to get to my level. “For what is dead may never die. But this…” he pressed his large hand on my stomach with deliberate force. “This will die, and _never_ come back.”

I swung my hand upward and struck him on the face. He slowly lifted his hand in the air before he pressed it to the right side of his face. “If we lived on the Iron Island’s I’d cut off your hand for that.”

I remained silent, staring him down to see if he would falter. “I’d cut off more than that,” he jeered through gritted teeth. The Mountain took a protective step forward, a thing that made Euron straighten up and take a good look at him. “He’s loyal, isn’t he? Will see how loyal he is…”

“The Mountain will serve me- protect me,” I stated with a leveled voice. “And he will not hesitate to strike you down if you threaten me and my child again.”

He mockingly laughed at me and then spat upon the polished floor. “I’ve cut down men larger than him,” he shouted, while his hand tapped the ridges of his hilt.

“That is exactly what Oberyn Martell said, and we all know his fate.”

“I’m no fucking Martell!” he roared, before he wiped away the spit dribbling down his chin. “I am Iron Born-”

“And I’m a Lion!”

“The Lannisters,” he jeered with an arrogant tone of voice. “Have held the Seven Kingdoms for long enough. Now, it is time for a new leader to rise.”

“And you think that is you.”

“I don’t think- I _know._ ”

A tense silence fell between us, my hand flexing as I considered whether I wanted the Mountain to cut him down now. _This was a mistake,_ I realized. _Why did Brayden have to be right? Why did he always have to be right about everything?_

“Your Grace,” Qyburn interrupted, breaking the heavy silence between us. “I think it is time to present my wedding present.” He unraveled a black cloth that he had kept under his shoulder and drew out a long wine bottle. “The first, I wish you and your…” he paused, and let his dark sable eyes fall upon Euron. “… husband will enjoy on your wedding night.”

I accepted this wedding present, noticing the date on the front of the bottle confirmed how truly priceless this was. “And the second,” Qyburn said with a nervous grin. “Shall be delivered tomorrow morning when the Mountain and I have had our way with Yara Greyjoy.”

“Why not now?”

“Because she is induced with drugs. Enough to make her drowsy for a few hours. Only then will we able to work with her undisturbed.”

“I look forward to it.”

Euron leaned his hand on the wall for support and covered his mouth as he tried not to gag. “I should just kill her and let that be the end of it,” he wheezed into the palm of his hand.

“But where is the fun in that?”

“A lion with fangs.” He smiled at me, but it was so lopsided it made him look disturbed. “It looks like you’re the one with the balls in the family.”

I clenched my hands together, trying to hide the hatred that was seething through my body. “If you mean I am the strongest one, then yes.”

“You probably wished you were a boy,” he taunted, before he stood up straighter. “I’ll make sure you remember what you really are. A woman to be fucked.”

I bit down on my lip, staring at this man with the same look I once gave Ned Stark before I had him arrested. _He will pay for this,_ I thought, _they all will._

“I think it is best to leave you now,” Qyburn piped up. “Unless you require our services?”

“The Mountain stays with me.”

“I shall need him later, your Grace.”

“And he shall be sent to you, but on _my_ terms.”

“Your Grace,” he sadly said, and offered me a low bow before he turned to leave.

Euron attracted my attention once again by hurling all over the floor. I let out a sigh of indignation as he let out most of his dinner, and only when he was done that I took him lightly by the shoulder and lead him back to our quarters. The Mountain accompanied us in silence, but when we reached my chamber room I was conflicted whether I should let him in further.

“Wait outside,” I ordered, and helped Euron stagger into our room. The room was decorated for our wedding night, a thing that brought back memories of my first night with Robert Baratheon. _How I hated_ _him,_ I thought, _how I hate him still._

The fireplace was empty, but I noticed there was enough blankets piled upon the bed to keep us warm. The thought of sharing the bed with Euron made me uneasy, but I tried to push it to the back of my mind for now.

“Take this,” I instructed, after I poured a pitcher of water into the cup. “It will help.”

“I don’t need that,” he grunted, with a violent wave of the hand. “I need another drink.”

“You need water,” I countered. “Or you’ll just throw up again.”

He mumbled something under his breath as he took the cup from me, gulping it down with a single swig. “Another,” he barked, and slammed the cup into my hand. I went over to the table and poured more of the icy water into the cup, ignoring the scrawled writing of one of Brayden’s notes that he had written long ago tucked away at the other end of the table. _I wish he was with me now._

“You should get to bed,” I said sweetly, it was the same voice I used to use on my son, Joffrey, when he broke into an hysteria. “There will be other times to please you.”

“I’m sure you said that to Robert too, and that is why you produced nothing but blonde headed bastards.” He dropped the cup down on the table and rose to his feet. “There will be none of that with me.”

I pressed my fingertips together to gain some level of control. _If he touches me I’ll scream,_ I thought, _and then he will have to face the Mountain._

He ripped off his leather jacket in front of me, throwing it on the ground with force before he took another step forward. I moved backwards, fearful of that maniacal look in those cold brown eyes of his. He pounced on me suddenly, sharp nails digging into the sight of my arms as he leaned into me. “I will take what is mine,” he breathed, before he lifted me off the ground. I beat his shoulders with balled fists, which made him drop me to the floor with anger. I raised my hand to strike him in the face again, but he quickly caught my arm in mid-air and used his other free hand to smack me.

_I saw a fleeting image of my father, grave and rigid as a stone as he looked across from me from the council table._

Another open palmed strike went across my cheek, which made me stubble upon the wooden table.

_Ah, there I saw my beautiful sons and daughter in her favourite sunny yellow dress. The future of House Lannister. We will build a dynasty that will last a thousand years, even longer than the Targaryens, and the Iron Throne shall be theirs._

I fell upon the table, to weak to fight back when his large hands arrested my waist and dragged me across the table.

_I saw Jamie giving me that sweet smile as we laid in bed, the crinkle around his eyes as he gazed down at me with all the love in the world._

Euron’s massive hand arrested around my throat, the other wrapping around the bottom of my neck before he gave it a squeeze.

_There was a look of love in Brayden’s eyes as he stared at me in the darkness, watching my head roll to the side until we were face to face. The way his soft hands reached down to touch my cheek, the radiant glow in those azure blue eyes before he leaned in for a kiss._

Euron’s hands grew tighter, pulling me out of the trance. I reached forward to try and jab my fingers into his eyes. He used his elbow to dig into my chest, applying more pressure until I wasn’t able to scream. I frantically reached upwards, trying to use my hands loosen his grip. He’s too strong, I realized, and I knew I only had a few more seconds to live. “The Iron Throne will be mine,” Euron greedily said, with a maddening look. “The Seven Kingdoms will be mine.” He applied more pressure, which left me wriggling for air. “And your name shall die like all the other’s.” A large grin spread across his face as he saw the lids of my eyes drooping. _A lion does not go soundly asleep,_ I thought, as I dug my nails into the side of his face. Half a smile appeared on my face as I saw the small drops of blood dripping down the side of his cheek, knowing it would leave him a scar. I gave him a hateful grin as the last of the air escaped my lungs, my body shudder from lack of air and my head drooped down to the table before I finally gave in-to the eternal sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a reason I took so long to update this fic :/
> 
> Yes, Cersei Lannister is dead, and as much as I hated her on the show I am sorry to see her go. Feel free to share your reactions down below, and whether you think she will have a similar fate in season eight of Game of Thrones. 
> 
> We will see how Westeros reacts to Cersei's death, and how this will affect Petyr and Sansa in particular in the next few chapters. Hope to see you then!
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish


	46. Brienne the Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he stared and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Brienne**

I threw the blankets atop of my legs, padding it down until it felt comfortable enough for me to lie flat on my back again. The stirring of Jamie’s feet across the hardwood floors kept me awake, a thing that bothered me little on this cold winter night. We had found this abandoned house on our travels and elected to stay there until the ice storm blew over. For an entire week we had made this place our home, and I felt a sense of sadness knowing this was our last night here.

“Bran is still out there,” Jamie said, as he took a seat next to my makeshift bed. “He won’t come in.”

“That boy is made of ice and stone,” I joked, and accepted the hot cup of water he offered me.

“He’s a Stark,” Jamie mused aloud. “Maybe its in his blood.”

He leaned his back against my bent legs, not minding the closeness we had that still made me uneasy. He sipped on the hot beverage, wrapping his left hand around the sides of the cup comfortingly. There was a look of peace about his face, the way his cool blue eyes stared at the frosted window as if he had all the time in the world. “How is your hand? Does it ache still?”

“Sometimes.” He lifted his right arm in the air in front of him. “I think it’s the cold.”

“And your left? How does it feel?”

“Overworked,” he laughed, and lowered his cup to his chest. “I will miss practicing with you though.”

“There will be other times,” I assured him, and took a quick glance at Oathkeeper that was laying next to my bed. “And you have been improving.”

“That’s because I have a good teacher,” he pointed out. “Much better than Bronn.”

I laughed at him, remembering the stories he used to tell about that outlandish sellsword. There was a look in his eyes as he continued to stare at me, something that made a swarm of butterflies fill my stomach. Jamie moved a bit closer, keeping his back against the sides of my outer thigh as he scooched closer to my waist. During our travels I had gotten used to a certain level of intimacy from Jamie: a lingering touch, a hand pressed to the side of my arm, but this was new for both of us, and we were keenly aware of it as he leaned further against my frame.

“Where you ever engaged?” he suddenly asked, while those blue eyes retained on mine.

“No.” I lowered my eyes to the floor. “No one would have me.” I rubbed my fingers around the rounded edges of the cup. “Brienne the Ugly, that is what they used to call me.”

“You are not ugly.”

“All my life I’ve been called that.” I lifted my eyes to him when I added, “And I’ve learned to accept that.”

“You’re not ugly,” he repeated. “Oh, I admit you can be a burly beast at times,” he laughed, and let his hand fall over the sides of my shoulder. “And there is something terrifying about a woman who is able to blindly knock you off a horse, but you have some redeeming qualities.”

“You are being kind, Ser Jamie. Have I knocked you too hard on the head today?”

“That was a heavy blow,” he retorted, and rubbed his hand over the side of his left temple. “But I’ll manage.”

“I see.”

“You could have been a little easier.”

“Your enemies will not be easy, especially when they know who you are.”

“King Slayer,” he grumbled, it was so low I barely heard it.

“You will make a new name for yourself,” I promised him. “You will right the wrongs that you have done.”

“They will always see me that way. The man who stabbed the mad king in the back.” He let out a long sigh and placed the mug between his open legs. “And we are going to meet his daughter! I’m sure this will go well.”

“It doesn’t have to come to that,” I reminded him. “Bran insists that we stay here, until it is time to go Northwards.”

“But he doesn’t tell us why,” he complained. “Why are we supposed to trust this kid, again?”

“Because I made an oath to protect him, and so did you.”

“Technically… I didn’t make an oath to Sansa Stark.”

“You’re staying with him,” I said in a stern voice, a thing that put a little smile across his face.

“I like when you take charge.”

“I’m not taking charge,” I rapped out, and dropped my legs to the ground so I could go to sleep.

“You are,” he replied, and stretched himself across the wooden floor beside me.

“Your bed is over there, Ser Jamie.”

“Or I can just share yours?” I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering how many times I had to say no before he got the point. “It is cold,” he pointed out. “And it would be better for the both of us if we-”

“The answer is still the same,” I interrupted.

“And I propose the same,” He slyly said. “All you have to do is share your blanket with me, and I will do the rest.”

“I am warm enough.”

“You keep saying that, and yet, I specifically recall hearing your teeth chatter last night.”

“That is all in your head,” I lied. “That’s what you want to hear.”

“Is the great, honourable Lady Brienne lying to me?” He moved himself closer, letting his head rest against the side of his arm.

“Why must you insist upon this?” I grievously asked.

“Because I am cold,” he answered me, with a curious glimmer in his eye. “Just for tonight, will you let me?”

“Fine.”

He shot me a grin before he got up to retrieve his own blankets; they were spread across my entire body before he crawled underneath them and pressed his chest against my own. “Am I too close?” he asked, once he caught the brightness of my cheeks.

“Very.”

“I could be closer you know,” Jamie said in a hush tone of voice. A soft sigh escaped him, as he laid his golden hair upon the blankets that supported his head. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the closeness of our bodies: the way his leg laid atop of mine, the stray fingers that barely grazed my chest. I held my breath, fighting back every instinct to move away from him. “Sleep well, Brienne,” Jamie whispered, into the uncomfortable silence. I heard him shifting a little, and then I felt his soft breaths resting upon my face. I opened my eyes to see him staring down at me, the way those bright blue orbs retained on mine with such strength that it made me move away.

“You’re too close,” I stammered out, and pulled the blankets downward until it created a wall between us. He watched me with some amusement before he shut his eyes, and only then did I feel comfortable enough to fall asleep.

* * *

A cooing from an owl woke me up in the middle of the night, I drowsily lifted my head and looked at the frosted window as if I could see the nocturnal creature. Jamie’s gentle breathing soon attracted my attention, and only then did I notice his muscular arm laying over my waist and the warmth of his legs that somehow reached mine. I dropped my head back down on my pillow in defeat, trying to not admit to myself that I liked how close he was to me.

 _He’s sound asleep,_ I remind myself, before I lifted up my hand to stroke my hand through his hair. I have always wanted to touch it, not roughly like we did during one of our fights, but as gentle as I was now. My fingers slid through his smooth hair, and soon I found my way to the back of his head. He shifted a little in his sleep which startled me, but it quickly died away and he was mine to use at my leisure again. I leaned forward, trailing my hand around the curve of his ear and pretty soon I found my fingers lightly hovering over his smooth cheek. _He needs to shave,_ I noted, as I felt the sharp stubbles piercing the tips of my fingers. Jamie suddenly smiled, and my fingers instantly froze over his jawline, too afraid to move any further. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he drawled, while his eyes remained closed. I lifted my finger away from him and shrunk backwards, realizing he was aware of what I was doing to him all along. “You know…” Jamie droned, after he opened his right eye. “I was tempted to let you go on further, just to see how far you would go.”

“I-I…” I bit down on my fat lip, hating the way he stared at me through that one eye.

“How about I go back to sleep, and maybe then I’ll find out.”

I dropped my head against my pillow and shut my eyes, hoping he would take the hint that I didn’t want to play this game any longer. I felt Jamie’s body shift closer, and soon his hand was guiding me away from him until I fell upon my back. I opened my eyes and watched him in the moonlight, biting my lip as he slinked out of the blankets and bent down on his knees. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing how far you are willing to go.”

“Don’t!” I shouted, once I felt both of his hands lay across the tops of my shoulders. He hesitated for a moment, and then leaned backwards with a blank expression. He blinked down at me, and then seemed to change his mind for he leaned back on the floor and tossed the blankets over him. ‘What were you going to do?” I asked, once he rolled away from me.

“I was going to kiss you.”

“I don’t want to be kissed.”

“Yes, I know,” he droned, and threw an extra blanket over the side of his shoulder.

“You are angry,” I observed.

“I don’t know what I am, or how I feel at this moment,” he confessed, while his back was still facing me. “All I know is I am ready for bed, and I hope I won’t find you awkwardly touching me when I wake up again.”

I blushed immensely after that, and rolled over as well until my back was also facing him. We stayed this way for a while, listening to the soft cooing of the owl and the frigid wind against the sides of the house. _Bran’s still out there,_ I thought, and remembered when he told us he was waiting for someone. _But who?_

There was a distant howling of a wolf, something we had heard often before during our travels. _We’re in this house,_ I had to remind myself, _we’re safe._

Jamie shifted again, rolling over to my side of the bed. I heard him let out another long sigh, and soon I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine. _He is so warm,_ I contemplated, _what would his skin feel like?_

I rolled over as well, but it was so discreet that it would hardly claim his attention. I stretched out my arm slowly, pretending I need to stretch before I laid it atop his shoulder. _There’s blankets there,_ I told myself, and was happy there was at least a protective barrier between us. Jamie coughed quietly into his sleeve and then let out a low moan before he stretched himself out as well, rubbing his leg against my outer thigh absentmindedly. I felt him curl into me more, morphing his body into my own until I felt a hot sensation in the most sacred parts of my body. “Jamie,” I said without realizing, and that made him lift his head to look at me. “You’re too close.”

“Then move.”

I inched back a little, but found he was stealthily matching my movements. I gasped once his face was inches away from my own, his lips partly slighted as he stared at mine. _He wants to kiss me,_ I realized, and froze under his heated stare. Our shallow breaths filled the air, each one fixed on the other as each second passed by. He finally relented and leaned forward a little more to give me a gentle kiss. I felt him breathe into me as he moved away, and heard his nails dig into the blankets as he forced himself back. I was motionless, as my mind replaying the scene over and over again in my head. _That was my first kiss,_ I realized, and the very thought of it made me a little sad. _Brienne the Ugly, Brienne the Maiden,_ whispered in the back of my head. _No one ever wanted to kiss me, no one ever wanted to take my hand._

“I expected you to react quite differently,” Jamie said into the darkness, breaking me out of my little trance. “I thought you would slug me for that.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“You would,” he softly said. “And I probably deserve it.”

“I’ve never been kissed before,” I admitted, and pressed the tips of my fingers against my mouth.

“Not even once?”

“No.”

He offered me a sad smile and perched his head atop one of my blankets until we shared the makeshift pillow. “Then I am happy I was the first one.”

I blinked at him, speechless under his tender gaze. He moved in again and kissed me longer this time, pressing it against my inexperienced lips until I loosened its hold and let him have full reign. He wrapped his arm around me, pressing it against the back of my neck as he kissed me full on. Those restless legs of his entangled between mine, and soon my barrier folded over as he laid siege to it with his massive weight. He climbed on top of me slowly, enough not to alarm me as he laid gentle kisses against the side of my cheek. “Loosen up,” he instructed to me, and moved my arm away from my chest to rest to his side. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, as he drove his calloused fingers through my short hair. He could tell I was terrified, my motionless body was his to torment but he would not do so- not with me. “Brienne,” he coolly said. “Just touch me, its alright.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You had me in a head lock earlier,” he reminded me. “If you could touch me then, you can touch me now.”

“But that’s different.”

“Try this,” he proposed, and laid his hand on the side of my cheek before he deepened his kisses just a little. “Now you try?”

I pecked his lips, which made him laugh right in front of my face. “Was it bad?’

“You could do better,” he said with a light shrug, before he rested his arms on either side of me. “Try again.”

I leaned my head forward and smooched my lips against his for a moment, a thing that made him let out a long sigh at the side of my face. “I knew you were inexperienced but…” his voice trailed away, and he leaned forward to show me how it truly felt to be kissed. I found my hands digging into the blankets around his back, surprised at the sudden need to have him wrapped around my arms. He must have taken it as a good sign, for he parted his mouth more and took his time kissing the whole of my lips. “That’s it,” he encouraged, the moment I drew the blankets away from me; they had become a burden to me, an obstacle whenever I tried to press my hands against the back of his shoulders.

 _They won’t call me Brienne the Maiden for long,_ I thought, once the blankets dropped down to his waist and I felt the firmness of his back beneath my finger tips. “You’re doing fine,” Jamie assured me, after his toes dragged along the outside of my calves. I felt a tingle down below, surprised to feel a tightness at the bottom of my stomach the more he kissed me. A sharp breath escaped me the second he pulled off the blankets completely and tossed it away from our bodies. _He’s taking this too far,_ I panicked, and found my hands pressing him away from me.

“You want to stop?” Jamie asked through panted breaths.

“Yes,” I answered him, and applied more force so he would take my meaning.

“Okay.” He blinked down at me, and then he reclined himself upwards until I could no longer push him away. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know, but I’m not ready for anything that intimate.”

“I wasn’t going to go all the way,” he assured me, but it was clear he didn’t even believe it himself for he rested his hands over his trousers painfully. “I think I need a minute,” he hushed, and got up from his feet to go into another room inside the house. I listened to his retreating steps, knowing he would have to take care of some business before he would be able to go back to sleep again.

 _I feel the same way,_ I thought, as I laid my hand over myself and let out a low groan as the throbbing continued. _I never felt this way,_ I mused, _but then again, I’ve never had a man kiss me like that either._

I heard the wood creaking under his feet as he made his way into the kitchen, a sharp groan escaped him every so often in the dark. I shed the blankets away from me and went into the kitchen to join him. His back was facing me when I finally walked in, and I could tell his pants were down as he dealt with the issue at hand. I sheepishly stepped back, and banged into the wall in the process, a thing that made him look over his shoulders at me. “Brienne?” he asked, before he pulled up his pants.

“I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m…” he stopped himself short and dragged his hand down the front of his pants. “I’m coming back if that’s what you are wondering.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, annoyed that he didn’t answer my question.

“I just feel a little uncomfortable, but it will go away soon.” He turned around to face me, though his hand continued to cover the front of his pants. “I won’t touch you again, if that’s what you are wondering.”

“Alright,” I breathed, not sure what I wanted to say at that moment. “Come back to bed. I don’t mind us sharing it again.”

“You’re sure?”

“Not really but come anyways.” I went into the bedroom without him, lifting the blankets over my tired frame before I retired again. Jamie was entangled in my sheets a few minutes later, careful to keep a distance between us for both our sakes. There was a tense silence once we were both settled, a thing that made me stare down at the black blanket that separated us. I cleared my throat lightly before I tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you have went all the way?” I asked to his back.

“If you let me, I would have.”

“You know I’m a maiden right?”

“A virgin, then yes.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“I find it rather refreshing,” he said in a charming voice, which told me he was trying to flirt with me.

“I think its pitiful.”

“I imagine many men would shy away from sleeping with you, but I am not one of them.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have seen who you are, and I like you.”

“No, you don’t,” I grumbled, and shifted myself away from him.

“It is more than these blankets that stand between us, Brienne,” he chided, before an awful silence fell upon us again.

“I just don’t…” I rolled over to face him. “I just don’t know what you see in me.”

“A kind, honourable woman,” he replied. “One who keeps her word, and always presents herself in the best possible manner. A woman who doesn’t deserve to be around the likes of me.”

“You are honourable too,” I countered. “And noble, not because of your House, but because that is who you truly are.”

“Thank you, Brienne.” A small smile escaped him, as he turned around to face me. That smile remained on his face as he closed his eyes in an effort to fall asleep. _I don’t want him to look away from me just_ _yet,_ I realized, so I stretched my hand forward and brushed my fingers through his hair. Bright blue eyes opened immediately, and he calmly watched my hand trail over his head and down the side of his face. His breathing was low and hoarse once my fingers nuzzled itself against his neck, taking in the strength of his body from years of fighting alongside the finest knights of Westeros. I let my fingers trail upwards at the back of his hair, noticing the goosebumps along the way, and I found myself wondering if it was because of me. Slowly I leaned forward and kissed the side of his cheek before I retreated into my space. “Goodnight, Brienne,” he said with a smile, and then nuzzled himself against me before we both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The morning was very fine when I woke up, the sun shined through the frosted covered windows and illuminated our frames. Jamie was still caressing the side of my waist, his head pressed against mine as he softly snored on this tranquil-like morning. A few stray birds announced the early hours, a thing that reluctantly made me creep out of bed and head towards the kitchen. I stretched out my aching limps, while my eyes glazed over the pots and pans resting over the oven. _I’ll make Jamie breakfast,_ I gleefully thought, and reached into the cupboard to retrieve a glass full of oats. My hands barely reached the glass when I heard footsteps just outside the front door. “Bran!” I called out but was met with an eerie silence.

There was a soft rapping on the door, a thing that made me reach for a knife before I made my way to the door. A small girl stood in front of the doorway, her right arm in a handmade sling with blood blotting the white cloth and the sides of her jacket. Dark eyes looked up at me sadly, her face impassive to read as she scanned the warm clothes that adorned me, and the thin knife wrapped around my hand.

“I need your help,” she quietly said, her voice so weak it was barely audible.

“What do you need?”

“To find my way home.”

“Where do you need to go?” I asked as I lowered my knife slightly, no longer seeing her as a threat. _The girl’s injured and lost,_ I contemplated, _there is no need to be so harsh._

 _“South of here,”_ she carefully said, and I noticed how she vaguely scanned the area behind me.

“Are you alone? Or are there others?”

“My family is dead.”

“So, you’re on your own,” I deliberated and lowered my knife completely.

“Yes.” There was a hint of an accent when she uttered that last word, but I could not tell where it was from. She remained still as I eyed her again, careful not to give anything away about herself.

“What happened to your arm?”

“I was attacked.”

Jamie’s footsteps announced his presence, and soon enough he was standing behind me with his blond hair sticking on his ends. “Another kid?” He asked and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand to show his exhaustion. “Maybe that will get Bran off that god forsaken tree.”

“Jamie,” I scolded, and opened the door a little bit wider. The girl scanned the long sword hanging off Jamie’s belt, and immediately she shifted her jacket as if she wished to hide something.

“What happened to her arm?” he asked me, his voice soft enough for only I to hear.

“She was attacked.”

“By what?”

“I don’t know,” I relayed, and turned my gaze back to the girl. “Who attacked you?”

“A wolf.”

“I told you,” Jamie shouted. “I told you they could attack us at any moment.”

“We are in a house, Jamie, we are perfectly fine.” I moved away from the door and beckoned the girl into our temporary home. “You must be hungry, come in.”

Jamie let his hand fall to his hilt as he watched the girl cross over the threshold, his eyes trailing over her appearance with suspicion. “You don’t look like a Northern,” he noted, after she took a seat at the tarnished table. “Where are you from?”

“A place very far away from here.” There was a blankness to her stare as she looked between the pair of us. “You are far away from your home’s too.”

“Very perceptive,” Jamie said with suspicion. “What gave it away?”

“Your accents.” She blinked at us again. “And your sword.”

“Borrowed,” Jamie assured her, and lightly lifted it off his hilt. “You like it.”

“I’ve seen better,” she murmured, and laid both of her hands atop the table.

“Jamie,” I called out. “Hand me the seasonings will you. I will try to make this oatmeal have as much flavour as I can.”

“At least there is something to eat,” he responded, while his head was buried into a low cupboard, only his ass could be seen from my view. I bit down on my lip lightly and forced my gaze away to the boiling water atop the oven.

There was a sharp grating of a chair before the girl piped up, “Where are you going?”

“You know we are traveling?” I asked her, as I stirred around the oats.

“Your bags,” she observed, and pointed at our belongings near the front of the door. “You are leaving soon.”

“Today,” I answered her. “We have to go North to see the Dragon Queen, and then after that who knows.”

“Apparently I have to drag a cripple around,” Jamie joked, after he dropped a tin of cinnamon on the countertop beside me. “Lucky bastard.”

“Where is he?” the girl asked in a small voice.

“Outside somewhere, probably praying to the tree.”

I took up the seasoning and poured it over the half-cooked oats, stirring it around as I listened to their conversation.

“Where are you going?” Jamie asked. He took a seat opposite her, and I knew he was probably giving her one of his dashing smiles.

“South.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to go to the only place that ever felt like home.”

“Well, you’re a long way away.” I heard Jamie pulling in his chair before he asked, “Mind if I have a look? I’m experienced with those kind of injuries, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I managed,” she sharply said. “Nothing that I wasn’t able to fix for myself.”

“Still, it might help to have another person look at it. I can tell the wolf took a deep bite into you.”

“Well, I left him more than that,” she quietly said, which made me look up from our breakfast. _Such a strange girl,_ I thought, as I noticed how deadly her eyes looked as she stared at Jamie.

“You’re telling me you killed a wolf all by yourself.”

“I did.”

“That’s rather hard to believe.”

I grabbed three bowls down from the shelves and dropped it loudly on the table to get their attention. “You are to quick to judge her Jamie. I know someone who could take on a wolf and more if she had the right weapon.”

“I suppose you’re talking about yourself-”

“Arya, actually,” I cut in, as I poured out the oatmeal into the line of bowls.

“Arya Stark,” Jamie loudly said, before he dragged his chair away from the table. He lifted up a steaming bowl with his single hand and went back to the table to give it to the feeble looking girl. “You know my sister was not pleased when she left the Capital.”

“I know, I was the one looking for her, remember?”

“I’m happy she was able to escape my sister’s grasp,” he surmised, as he took up his own breakfast. “There is no telling what she would have done if she caught Arya.”

“Kill her,” I simply said, and followed him back to the table. “Just as she does with everyone else.”

“Do I detect a hint of hatred in your voice.”

“You would know if I hated her,” I replied with a look of boredom. “Eat your food, Jamie.”

He leaned in to peck his lips on my cheek, catching me so off guard that I dropped my spoon into my bowl. “Now, now,” he chided, as he moved away from me. “Eat.”

“Then keep your hands to yourself.”

“I didn’t use my hand,” he remarked, and waved his golden hand that was closest to me in front of my face.

“It’s gold,” the young girl said with wonder, her meal completely forgotten at the moment.

“Only the finest for a Lannister,” he boasted, and dropped his fake hand on top of the table.

“Your Jamie?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“Jamie Lannister in the flesh.” He shot her a dazzling grin, which made the lines around his mouth stretch in an amusing way. “A few scratches and burns but I’m still here. And you are?”

“Sonia.”

“This is Lady Brienne,” he announced, and pointed the golden hand in my direction. “And the boy you may or may not find outside is Lord Stark, but he likes to go by the Three-Eyed Raven.”

“We are taking him North,” I added, in between bites. “He thinks he can stop the coming war.”

“The white walkers,” she said in a shaky voice.

“You know of them?”

She laid the spoon down on the table, as her face went blanch white. “Will you excuse me,” she said, as she rose herself from her seat. It was just then the front door creaked open and Brandon Stark crawled into the room on his hands and knees.

“Bran! You were supposed to call for us,” I scolded, like a mother who was annoyed with her child. “You know we would have-”

“Stop her,” Bran said in a weary voice.

The girl pulled up her coat and pulled out a silver dagger with a cobalt blue hilt. _I know that dagger,_ I thought, as I rose myself from my seat.

“Not another step,” she said in a soft voice, but it was her eyes that made us take her threat seriously.

Jamie took a step forward with his hands in the air, completely oblivious to the other sword that was now slinking its way down from her coat. “How about we all calm down for a second,” he proposed. “We are not going to hurt you.”

“I won’t be the one hurt,” she retaliated, and lifted her dagger to prove her meaning.

Bran dug his frozen fingers into the ground to get her attention. “I know what you did,” he said, as he looked up at her. “I know what are.”

She pointed her dagger downwards, contemplating whether this crippled boy was truly a threat. “And I know that you will never make it home,” he said with a fury of emotion, before he perched himself against the wall to let her pass. She ran out the house quickly, and Jamie and I watched her sprint down the hill and run into the darkened forest. “Don’t follow her,” Bran coughed, and held his hand over his chest. “It is not I who shall have revenge on her.”

“Who is she?” I asked, while I crouched down to get to his level. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been waiting for her for a long time,” Bran relented, a thing that took something out of him, for he rested the back of his head against the wall. “What she doesn’t know is that the North Remembers.”

“Remembers what?”

“Everything.”

 

 


	47. The End Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

I breathed her in as I pressed my face into her cheek, lathering a wet kiss across the cold surface. She turned her head to me slightly, eyes narrowing at me teasingly before she tilted her head upwards and returned my kiss with her own. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I am,” I admitted, and let my glove hand slink down her shoulder until I was able to enrapture her bare fingers. “You’re not cold?”

“I’m from the North remember?” She stopped us in the middle of the hallway and button up the last of my cloak, adjusting my mockingbird pin affectionately.

“Sansa,” I breathed, and waited for her to catch my eye. “Are you sure this isn’t a mistake?”

“You don’t think the others should be there,” she concluded, and laid her hand against my solid chest.

“I think Varys might reveal a little bit too much-”

“About your past,” she cut in, and let the corner of her left lip curl into a smile. “You’re afraid.”

“I am taking a necessary precaution, that’s all.”

“You think he’s going to reveal everything, and the Council will turn against you.”

“They already don’t like me,” I reminded her. “And we all know Tyrion and Royce’s opinion of me.”

“Tyrion is learning to respect you,” she rebutted, and took a hold of my arm to lead me down the hall. “And Royce is slowly making amends… he will never forget what you’ve done to his daughter though.”

“Oh, Myranda,” I laughed. “She was useful for a time, but she will _never_ be as good as you.”

“Yes, well,” she stammered out, as though she was at loss for words. “You’ve made a habit of stepping on everybody’s toes, so I’d advise you to tread lightly.”

“With the trial?”

“With everything,” she replied, before we turned the corner and was greeted by a group of guards. They informed us that the throne room was ready and that we were the first guests to arrive; Tyrion and Royce would be joining us soon, and then the trial for Lord Varys would commence within the hour. We took our seats at the head of the table; Sansa appeared stiff as she sat on the silver throne, rubbing her aching back that sly fully reminded me of the last nights events. I smiled at her with a raised eyebrow, which she quickly ignored. “I’ll have none of that,” she warned with a commanding tone of voice.

“I thought you would be thankful from last night,” I answered her while rubbing the bottom of my lips. “I did give you a _very_ good night kiss, if I recall.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and then dragged the silver throne away from me. I laughed at her and turned my head away to cover my mouth, and it was then that I saw a familiar lamp that I had often hidden under during the throne room meetings. Two images flickered through my mind at that moment: The first was Sansa’s lingering gaze as the room erupted with irritating cries towards Jon Snow as they hailed him the “King of the North,” and the other was the hateful glare she gave me when she called out my name with: “And how do you answer to these charges, Lord Baelish.”

I froze, feeling the insides of me go cold as I could faintly feel the slash of steel across my throat. My gloved hand lifted upwards to touch the surface, half surprised to find no blood dripping out of the closed wound.

“Petyr,” Sansa said with concern and pulled me out of the trance. I turned my head, half terrified by the sight of her, but the softness of her pale blue eyes ebbed away some of the memories- the pain.

The throne room door opened, and Tyrion strode into the room at a brisk pace, not stopping until he was right in front of our table. He went around it and took a chair next to Sansa, pulling it close beside her before he gave her a slanted smile. “You’re very quiet Lord Baelish,” he remarked, after he moved forward in his seat. “Not a sound.”

“My husband is currently unwell,” Sansa said as an excuse before she turned her head in my direction with a look of concern. “What is it?” she asked as she leaned into me.

“Memories,” I murmured, and gave her a sad look to show my words were true.

“It’s this room,” she hushed back, and let her eyes glance over to the exact spot that held my attention. “I feel it too.”

Tyrion tapped his fingers on the table to get our attention. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“What do you want Tyrion?” I drawled in a low raspy voice, feeling my nerves were suddenly on edge.

“I only want to ask if your decision has already been made?”

It was Sansa that spoke up for the two of us. “We wish to remain impartial. We want to know what you think.”

“You do understand how close I am with Varys,” he muttered with a pained expression. “How could I possibly go against him?”

“There is no justice in the world,” Sansa stated coolly. “Not unless we make it.”

I winced at the mention of her words, but luckily for me she didn’t catch it.

“Justice is one thing,” Tyrion mused with a slow nod of his head. “But revenge is another. I rather suspected this is your husband’s doing.”

“This is Varys’ fault, and his fault alone.”

“Yes, but you see your husband is still unusually quiet this morning.”

I rubbed my hand across my face, dragging it just under my right eye to show how tired I was, not just because of this trial, but from everything. _This game is finally taking its toll,_ I thought, as I found my eyes drifting to that dreaded spot again. “Petyr?” Sansa asked me again and laid her hand on the top of my sleeve. “Do you want to do this another time?”

“No, I’ll be fine, sweetling,” I lied and offered her a fake smile. She knew me well, too well, and soon she was lifting me out of my seat and steering me away from the throne room. She politely excused ourselves in front of Tyrion and assured him we would be back in a few minutes. I felt weak- drained, as she helped me out of the room and down a sunlit hallway that led to the open balconies. We never went this way because of the eternal cold, and yet, Sansa seemed determined to take me there. She opened a door that led to an unused room and then slid open another door that led to the open balcony. I felt my boots trudge over the mounds of snow and soon my gloved hands could feel the icy iron handrails just in front of me.

“What happened back there?”

“I was reliving,” I paused and dragged my gloved hand over my face again. “I could picture it all in my head, and I couldn’t shut if off- not this time.”

“The trial,” she relented. “Your trial.”

“That sham of a thing,” I grunted, and pounded my fist into the railing. “How could you do that to me?”

“Petyr,” she chided. “We’ve been through this before.”

“I thought I could forget it but…”

“It’s still there,” she acknowledged, and gave me a knowing look. “I have that problem too, believe me.”

“Sansa,” I hushed, before I straightened my back to face her. “How are we going to do this?”

She shrugged her shoulders lightly, a thing so subtle, and yet so telling in that small window of silence.

“I want this,” I assured her. “But its so hard!”

“Should we move Varys’ trial to another room?”

“That won’t make a difference. No matter how much I want too. I can’t shun that place forever.” I lifted my hands and rested it over her shoulders, leaning my face forward just enough to leave an inch or two of space. “Help me, Sansa. Help me to get rid of the past.”

She pressed her lips gently to my own, a softness that denoted just how fragile I really was at the moment. I hated to be so vulnerable, especially in front of her, but it was necessary for us to move forward. Still, I didn’t like the way she repeatedly whispered, “My poor, Petyr,” into my neck, as if I was some pathetic thing that needed to be pitied. Her frozen hands dug its way into my short locks of hair and soon she pulled me in for a deeper kiss. I relented after a while, finding the hotness of her face too intoxicating to hold back any further. We trudged through the clumps of snow as we found our way to the wall, and it was there that she pushed me into it playfully before she smooched those heated lips across my icy cheeks. “Petyr, I’m sorry,” she breathed into my ear. “I wish I could take it all back, do something different. But I can’t.”

“I know, sweetling.”

She brushed her fingers along my silver temples, staring into my eyes deeply. “I love you,” she stated in a clear voice. “And I will never betray you again.”

“And I you.”

“Will you stay strong for me?”

“I will.”

“You are the Lord of Winterfell now,” she relayed, and patted the front of my chest with pride. “You must behave that way.”

I bent forward to kiss her lips one last time, and then I knew our fates were sealed. _I can trust her,_ I told myself, after I reached for her hand and held it tightly. _It is time for us to move forward._

“Shall we go?”

“Yes,” I answered her, and took a large step forward before I led her out the room.

* * *

By the time we walked into the throne room everyone was already there; Varys hands were tightly wound behind his back like the helpless pigeon he was, a thing that could be used at my discretion. The only question is, what did I intend to do with him?

Varys ignored our presence as we passed by him, and so, Sansa and I took our seats without a single glance in his direction. “Shall we begin,” Sansa said in mournful voice, after she finally lifted her eyes in the prisoner’s direction.

“This can’t be necessary,” Tyrion entreated, and leaned across the table to get a better look at us. “Varys has served the two of you well.”

“Varys,” my wife quipped. “Only intends to serve himself.”

“He wishes to serve you,” Tyrion protested. “He just does it in his own way.”

“Are you his lawyer?” I piped up. “It sounds like you only wish to defend him.”

“I only want what is best for him… and you.”

I gave a quick glance in Varys direction, surprised to see how quiet he was at that moment. “What have you to say Varys?”

“I don’t regret what I did. I thought it was for the good of the realm. But…” he bit on his fat bottom lip, twisting it around with his front upper teeth. “Perhaps, I have made an error.”

“You shouldn’t be looking at things that don’t belong to you.”

“I only wanted to ensure you were on the right side. We all know how quick you are to betray people.” He paused for a moment and gave me a whimsical smile. “You may be the Lord of Winterfell, but you will always be _Littlefinger_ to me.”

I felt every eye turn in my direction, knowing they were silently agreeing with everything Varys was saying. “And you will always be the Spider,” I countered. “Serving one King before you move onto the next.”

“I only wanted peace and prosperity for our realm. I did not like the Mad King, just as I did not like Robert Baratheon.” He looked down at his feet as he added, “But a _whole_ kingdom is much better than a broken one. And that is where you and I will never be able to see eye to eye.”

 _Chaos is a ladder,_ I thought, and nodded my head at him in understanding.

It was my wife that spoke up next: “If we release you, will you serve us competently.”

“As long as it does not threaten Queen Daenerys, then yes.”

“I have already told you we are loyal to the Queen.”

“Only because you dislike Queen Cersei,” he pointed out. “But if she should fall, will you so blindly follow Daenerys still.”

“I will remain loyal to her.”

“And if…” Varys paused, and darted his eyes in my direction. “She should take the Iron Throne will you still submit to her.”

“We will,” Sansa answered for me.

“And if…” Varys wore a sinister smile now, as he took a small step forward. “If she should hail your brother as the King of the North and strip Littlefinger of his titles because of his past crimes. Would you still be loyal to her? Would you choose the Queen over your husband?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have been informing her of the odd occurrences across the realm. The disappearance of Theon Greyjoy, the tragic death of Lord Robin….” He narrowed his eyes at me while he added, “The success of Lord Hardyng rebellion, and the alliance between the North and the Vale that Lord Baelish is so eager to obtain.”

“I thought you wanted to see the realm united?” I reminded him. “A strengthening of our houses will ensure that.”

“Yes, I thought you might bring that up,” Varys slyly said. “I put that in the letter to Queen Daenerys as well. She will make of it what she will.”

“Are you trying to say you are sabotaging me, Varys?” I stood up from my seat with an air of authority. “Blackmailing me? Smearing my name?”

“Warning her,” he answered me. “Reminding her of what you truly are.”

“Varys!” Tyrion scolded, speaking up for the first time since the trial. “Lord Baelish has welcomed us into their home. Fed us, provided us with shelter, let us join their small council…” He shook his head spitefully, letting his moppy brown hair shake from side to side. “And this is how you thank them? You know how Daenerys can be, and you gladly add fuel to the fire. She has few allies, and it is only getting fewer as the war wages on-”

“What he is trying to say,” I interjected. “Is don’t burn the few bridges she has!” I went out of my seat and leaned against the back of the chair, letting my ringed hands dangle below. “At this very moment, Daenerys has the Greyjoys, Martell’s and the Starks as her allies. The only ones that truly count. Queen Cersei has what’s left of the Lannister army, Euron Greyjoy and the Golden Company if you can count them.” My steps were idle as I walked away from the chair, slowly making my way round the others as I maintained eye contact with my old friend. “Now, the Greyjoys are held as captives by their mad uncle as you have already informed us more than once. The Martell’s are defeated and without a leader. The Riverrun is weak. Without a strong leader they are nothing but fish that needs to be captured by a stronger foe. But the Vale…” I paused and shot him a devilish grin. “The Vale is impregnable, delightfully so. And Hardyng has already expressed an interest in strengthening an alliance with us.”

“No thanks to you,” Varys blurted out.

I chose to ignore him and leaned myself behind Tyrion’s chair. “He has graciously agreed to allow me to have some power over the Vale, although my title has Lord Protector has been ceremoniously been stripped the second Lord Robin was cut down.”

“A pity.”

“Very.”

“You must be displeased.”

“I have found it to be a blessing in disguise. Now, that I only have control over the North, Cersei will see me as less of a threat.”

“What about Harrenhal?”

“Harrenhal has been let.” I paused, and sheepishly shot a glance at Sansa, realizing I had not told her what I had done as yet. “A small Lord resides in it now, and he will maintain the structure and obtain tenants that will slowly build the walls up in time for spring. And when spring arrives-”

“If?” Tyrion interjected, while glancing his head upwards. “If it arrives.”

“If we should be so lucky,” I assented in a drawl voice. “I will find my investment in Harrenhal to be fruitful.”

“So, you will have one hand in the North and another in the South,” Varys surmised. “And an ally at every side I suppose.”

“To be sure, I will try to make an alliance with the Greyjoys if one of them should be so fortunate to escape. And Sansa’s relations with the Tully ensures our successful alliance with those who live in the Riverlands.”

“And your friendship with young Harrdyng ensures it.”

“Precisely!”

“Your enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I stood in front of Varys now, leveling my eyes at him as I answered, “Not as much as you. So, what do you say old friend? Will you work with us, or will I have to sentence you to death for treason?”

“I will work with you.”

 _For now,_ I thought, knowing that look in his eyes all to well. “Release him,” I instructed the guards who were waiting at the door. I turned to the front of the throne room, noticing the look of appraisal from my sweet wife. Tyrion seemed mystified by my presence, wondering how long I had been working undercover to get everything to align in my way. Royce’s look was thoughtful, his eyes averted to his large hands resting on the table in front of him. I sauntered towards him with a confident air, before I sat at the edge of the table right in front of him. “What is on your mind, Royce?” I asked in a deep raspy voice, showing how cold and calculating I could be when I was ready.

“Are you behind the rebellion?”

“Behind no.” I stroked the very edges of my goatee, rubbing the fine hairs as I contemplated, “But I didn’t oppose it either.”

“You were supposed to protect Lord Robin.”

“Lord Robin cast me out, if you didn’t remember. And left us stranded with no line of defenses for the coming war.”

“He did what he thought was best.”

“And so did I.” Royce averted his gaze from me purposely. “You wish me to just stand aside, and watch Winterfell crumple?”

“I wished you to stay loyal to your kin,” he shot out. “Sometimes I wonder if I was smart to stay here? To trust you?”

 _Oh, you should never trust me,_ I thought, and found a trace of a smile spread across my lips for a moment.

“My husband did what he thought was best,” my wife said aloud. “And I stand by his decision.”

“He was your cousin, my Lady.”

“He was my blood, yes. But he has made his decision, and we have made _ours._ ”

“We’re in the end game now,” Tyrion surmised. “It’s every man for themselves.”

“Or woman,” Sansa reminded him.

“Yes, but the way you are playing the game you might outlast us all.” He gave us a sad smile before he turned his gaze back to Varys. “I am glad to see he is free again. I am sure he won’t let you down.”

“He better not,” I rapped out, and jumped off the table. “There won’t be a second time.”

“I will write to Daenerys and explain the situation,” Varys explained. “I will tell her there was a _misunderstanding._ ”

“And that we live to serve our Queen,” I said with a small bow.

“Yes, I will tell her that,” he said with some sarcasm. “Am I free to leave?”

“There will be rules,” Sansa answered him. “You will be followed day and night by a guard. You will not be allowed to leave your quarters after sun down. Any letter you will write will be reviewed by our Maester or myself. And…” she stood out of her seat with a look of defiance. “If you should ever betray Petyr and I again I shall have you executed without a trial- not even a second notice. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Good! You are excused.”

He gave us a low bow, the lowest bow I had ever seen from him before he turned away. _He will serve us now,_ I thought, and the look from Sansa’s eyes confirmed it. _He will not betray us at least,_ and I found my eyes drifting to the other two individuals at our table. Tyrion looked pleased by these events, but Royce looked as grave as ever. _I will have to keep an eye on them both._

“Petyr!” Tyrion called out, and I was taken back by his sudden address. “Yes, it does sound strange calling you that, doesn’t it?”

“Have we made a sudden alliance?” I asked, as I interlaced my fingers together and laid it over my stomach.

“I rather respect your wits,” he answered me. “Creating alliances that stretch across the realm. My sister must be drinking all her troubles away right now.”

“Let us hope she drinks herself to death.”

“No, I don’t think that’s possible. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Sansa giggled softly, covering her mouth as she made her way towards us with Royce at her side. “No, I am truly happy for the both of you. I am much like Varys and want to see the realm united again. The war of the five kings has cost us a lot… lives, money, all wasted away. But now, I can see what you are doing, Petyr. Even if the realm should fall into your hands, I’d rather see you in control of it instead of Cersei.”

“Another compliment? What exactly are your intentions, Tyrion?”

“To serve you, of course. But to serve Daenerys as well. I may not be the Hand anymore, but that doesn’t mean I won’t work in her best interests.” He laid his hand over the left side of his chest fondly, as though the silver pin was still there. “Unite the Seven Kingdoms under one banner, even if it is yours. The Queen will be grateful-”

“To take it off my hands, you mean.”

“She has two dragons and an entire army. What do you have? You would be mad to refuse her offer.”

“I would, and that is why I won’t do it.”

“No, you are to clever for that.” Tyrion raised his hand to dig his fingers through his thick beard. “But I know you won’t be content with Lord of Winterfell for long. Take my advice, Petyr. Be happy with what you have. You have a beautiful wife! A child on the way, and a name that will span out from generation to generation. Accept what you have and be pleased with it.”

“I will.”

“And don’t go looking for trouble,” he scolded me. “Know your boundaries and stay within them.”

“If I did that, I’d still be on the Fingers scooping dung for the fires.” I puckered my lips at him grievously. “I’m an ambitious man, Tyrion, and there is still a climb to be had.”

“You fell from that climb, if I remember correctly. Right here in this room. You may not come back alive if you should fall again.” He gave us both a look of warning before he turned to leave; Royce gave us a slight bow as he matched the imp’s steps, and soon enough we were left in the throne room to mull over Tyrion’s haunting words.

 


	48. Mine Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Theon**

_Its just down here._ I shoved the side of my body against the sewage wall, trying to crack open the secret door that would lead us out of the vaults. _Come on,_ I angrily thought, as I took a few steps backwards to charge at the door.

“Let me do it,” Bronn growled and shoved me aside. He took five steps back and let out a low sigh before he rammed against the door. It cracked open and Bronn fell on the other side. “What the fuck?” was yelled out from the darkness. “What the fuck am I standing in?”

I took Yara’s unconscious form from Ellaria Sand’s hands and threw my sister’s lifeless form over my shoulder. “Let’s go,” I ordered, and trudged through the ankle high water into the secret vaults. It was dark in here, pitch-black, but that was too expected if we wanted to make it out of the Red Keep alive. The scent of people’s piss and shit flooded my senses, making me want to gag right there on the spot, but there was a long way to go and I couldn’t stop now. I heard Ellaria make a horrified sound, probably stepping on something squishy that made her jump in the air.

“Where the hell are you taking us?” Bronn asked behind me.

I turned my head to look over my shoulder, despite not seeing him in the darkness. “To Blackwater Bay.”

“Aye, I’m the knight of that.”

“A dead knight if they find you,” I surmised, before I covered my nose to take away the awful smell.

“I’m starting to wonder if this is worth it,” he piped up after a minute. “You know, palace and all.”

Ellaria Sand quickly replied, “Its too late to change your mind now!”

“I don’t know what’s so appealing about you Dornish women. No one else would make me abandon my golden cloak so easily.”

I dragged my hand across the sides of the wall, knowing if I lost my way we could be down here for weeks. _Go straight, only straight,_ I remembered, and hoisted Yara up higher so I could move a little faster. There was a faint sound of rushing water which echoed down the tunnel, so I knew we were at least going the right direction.

“Can you fight as well as your daughters,” Bronn suddenly asked into the darkness.

“I trained them,” Ellaria replied with her strong Dornish accent. “It is our way. We do not sit at home and be pretty objects like the rest of Westeros.”

“Aye!” he yelled, and the sound of him clapping his hand over his chest could be heard. “And that’s why you are so appealing… Dornish women… I’m going to have a good time down there.”

“We have to get there first,” she reminded him, and I heard her feet quickening down the tunnel until she was at my side. “How much further?”

“Not much further.”

“How did you know about this place?”

“My friends a good gambler,” I spat out. “And luckily we got the right man drunk.” I looked over my shoulder to address the former Captain of the Golden Cloak. “And it helped when all your guards are distracted by the royal wedding.”

“Fucking shit show!” he shot back. “She’s the worst of the Lannister’s, I tell ya.”

“She’s marrying my Uncle,” I said matter of factly, even though I was stating the obvious.

“So, you’ll be related to a Lannister!” Bronn laughed. “Well, it could be worse.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. There are worse cunts in the world.”

I rolled my eyes at him, happy he couldn’t see it, before I continued my journey down the tunnel. The ground leveled downwards, water trickling around my calves, which made the journey even more cumbersome. “I smell like shit,” Bronn complained.

“We _all_ smell like shit!” Ellaria retorted.

I coughed into my sleeve, trying to get rid of the heady smell that was making my head ache. _It was the only way,_ I told myself, but the revolting smell didn’t stop my eyes from watering.

“This must be worse than death,” Bronn moaned. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“You don’t get paid at all!” I yelled over my shoulder. “What are you some kind of prince?”

“I’m a knight,” he boasted. “And a good one at that.”

“Well, you can’t fight your way through the smell I’m afraid.”

“He thinks he’s funny!” he exclaimed to the Dornish woman beside him. “He won’t be laughing when I drive a knife through his back.”

“Calm down,” Ellaria protested, and I heard the sound of hands brushing across fabric. “With the temper you have you’d think you’re a Dornish man.”

A faint kissing sound could be heard in the darkness, a thing that made me turn around to look at the two of them. _Is this seriously happening right now?_

“You wish I was one,” he jeered, and the snapping of clothes could be heard.

“Ummm…” I timidly said. “Now, is not the time for that.”

“I’m only removing my cloak.” The sound of something splashing in the water quickly followed. “It was dragging me down.”

“That’s not the only thing,” I muttered under my breath, and luckily for me Bronn didn't hear it. There was a faint glimmer of light now, and the sound of rushing water flooding my ears. _We’re at the bay_ , I thought, and took long strides into the deep pools of water.

“Now, well you look at that!” Bronn exclaimed once we neared the opening. “Blackwater Bay.”

“Our boat should be around here,” I replied, and covered my dirty blonde hair with a darkened hood. “We have to hurry.”

Bronn drew out his sword once we stepped into the moonlight, his silver steel glimmering in the blueish darkness. The clouds were heavy tonight, threatening to rain, and I had no intention in being caught in it any time soon. We were outside now, trudging through the mounds of mud and murky waters as we made our way down hill. The rocks beneath our feet were slick, crusted over with a thin layer of frost from the snowfall a few days ago. _At least the water isn’t frozen yet,_ I mused, as I looked at the open sea a few miles away. We were far from the sandy coast, but at least it was in our line of sight now.

“You armed, boy?” Bronn asked, once he stood beside me.

“I have a dagger.”

“A dagger,” he jeered. “I should have expected as much.”

“I don’t intend to run into anyone,” I replied as my eyes scanned the surrounding area. “And your guards don’t know about this place.”

“No, but someone else might.” He leaped over a boulder and went onto a patchy stretch of grass. “Alright, let’s keep moving.”

Ellaria was resting her hands on her knees, clearly tired from the sudden exertion. “Are you alright?” I quietly asked, after I laid my free hand over her shoulder.

“There was a time when I could outrun you all,” she breathed. “But those days are done now.”

“We will take our time, if needed.”

She nodded her head kindly at me, before she straightened herself to continue. Yara was still motionless over my shoulder, but perhaps it was better that way. Seeing how weak Ellaria was, only made me wonder how much worse my sister would be when she woke up.

“Looks like you need a hand,” Bronn remarked, once we caught up to him.

“I can take care of her,” I assured him, and nudged Yara over my shoulder more to prove it.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” He brushed past me and swiftly lifted Ellaria into the air. She cried out in alarm, and he promptly shushed her until she was as silent as a submissive child. “Put your arms around me.”

“Oh, you would like that!”

“Don’t make things more difficult than it has to be,” he argued, after he cradled her in his arms.

“I am not interested.”

“Neither am I! So, do it.”

She scoffed at him as she slid her slender arms around his brawny neck and complained how much he smelled to both of their satisfaction. He shot me a wiry grin as he passed me by. The route Bronn was taking was a long line of patchy grass that led straight to the shoreline, thankfully it was a safe enough journey to put us all at ease.

* * *

Anson ran up to us like a fleeting shadow across the sandy beach. His black clothes made him look intimidating at first, but once he stood before us with a wide-eyed expression I felt like we were finally out of harm’s way. “Found some friends,” he noted, as those large eyes flickered between the two strangers.

“This is Ser Bronn of Blackwater Bay,” I explained. “And the one in his arms is Ellaria Sand.”

“Sand?” he giddly said. “You’re from Dorne?”

“I am,” she said in a somewhat seductive voice. “You know of it?”

“Everyone knows about Dornish women,” he said with a sly little grin. “I gather your taken.”

I stood between the three of them and rapped out, “You’re too old for her, Anson. Is the boat ready?”

“Ready as it will ever be.”

I hoisted Yara over my shoulders again, finding her slipping away from me every few minutes. She was lighter than I remembered, but she still retained that same roundish shape from before. I let out a tired sigh before I trekked down the last of the sandy shore, hating the way the sand clung to my soaking wet boots and the seams of my pants. Anson ran ahead of me to get the tarnished row boat ready for our departure. _We have to get as far away from here as possible._

Anson aged hands were quick to grasp my sister’s waist, helping her down until we could position her near the back of the boat. “She’s asleep?” he asked with some level of concern.

“Drugged.”

“That bad, huh?”

I chose not to answer him and helped Ellaria onto the boat as well. Bronn refused my hand and arrogantly stepped onto the boat, as though he had done it a thousand times before. “They don’t call me the Knight of Blackwater Bay for nothing!” he blurted out, after he took a seat beside Ellaria.

“Thanks for helping me,” I said to Anson once I offered my hand for him to shake. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Well, once you told me you were the heir to the Iron Thrones, I thought… why not?”

“I don’t wish to rule it though. Yara will be there Queen.”

“Your turning it down!” Bronn yelled from across the ship. “What is with you Greyjoys? I’ll never understand them.”

“Yara has paid the Iron price,” I gruffly said, as I placed my hands on my hips. “She knows and lives by the old way. She will make a great leader.”

“And why not you?”

“I am nothing but a coward,” I murmured. “I don’t deserve it.” I stepped into the deep pool of water and began to untie the boat at the stern. Bronn watched me quietly, not saying a word as I threw the rope back into the ship and began to inch it away from the sandy shore.

“Where are we going?” Ellaria piped up, after a while, the silence between the four of us seemed to stretch on forever.

“I am going back to the Iron Islands,” I answered her, while I dug my feet deeper into the sand to retain some balance. “And we shall gather an army to defeat my Uncle.”

“He has an army larger and stronger than yours,” Bronn pointed out as he rubbed his frigid hands together.

“But I will have the Queen’s army at my back. And if I’m lucky… two dragons.”

“Aye, the Mad King’s daughter! What’s her name again?”

Ellaria cut in, “Daenerys,” before I could, but I noticed the tenseness in her voice. “She should have attacked King’s Landing when we were strong, instead of listening to that _Imp._ ”

“Tyrion?”

“The Lannister,” she drawled, her voice as equally as cold as the frigid water I was stepping through. _We_ _our out enough,_ I surmised, and offered my hand to Anson so he could pull me back into the boat.

“You all smell like shit,” he laughed. He threw a spare blanket over Ellaria and Bronn before he returned to my side of the boat. “So, are you coming with us?”

“I’m going to Dorne,” Ellaria responded with a look of determination. “Even if I have to swim there.”

“I’ll find a way to smuggle you home,” Anson replied. “It will be like the good ol’ days.”

I smiled at the elderly man, wondering how many tricks he secretly had up his sleeve. _If it wasn’t for him, we might not even be here right now._

Bronn patted the blanket over his legs in a princely manner. “I’m going with her. She owes me a palace.”

“I do,” she sweetly said, and I noticed the lingering look between the two of them.

“We’ll be on this boat for another thirty minutes, and then we will reach a small docking bay. One discreet enough for people not to ask too many questions. We will have to get rid of those clothes though, especially that Lannister armour your wearing,” Anson pointed out, and flicked his wrist in Bronn’s direction. “I’ve never seen anything so shiny.”

“It’s the finest gold you’ll ever see.”

“It will fetch us a few hundred golden dragons to the right seller.”

“It’s not for sale.”

“Aye, and how do you expect to pay for your journey to Dorne?”

“I have enough gold,” Bronn said with a smug, clearly taking a liking to the grey old man. “You can come with us if you want?”

Anson turned his head in my direction, taking in my stiff upper lip and that stern brooding look I have been wearing ever since we reached King’s Landing. _I must look like Jon,_ I thought, _and felt satisfied that there was a little bit of Stark in me after all._

“You don’t have to stay with me,” I reminded him. “You have already done so much already.”

“No, I’ll stay,” he answered me in a low tenor. “The Iron Islands are famed across the Seven Kingdoms and beyond it. I would like to see it with my own eyes.”

“It is nothing but bird shit and rocks,” I assured him.

“All the same. I want to see it.”

I offered him a small smile, one that cracked that stiff upper lip that I’ve been holding on for far too long. There was a faint sound in the air, like music traveling across the waters. We all looked to the Red Keep, realizing that mournful music was coming from there.

“The Lion’s Roar,” Bronn mused aloud. “Even from across the water’s you can hear it.”

“I always hated that song,” Ellaria sulked.

I closed my eyes slightly to hear the melody, recalling that infamous song from long ago when I was still a ward at Winterfell. _The Rains of Castamere,_ I recalled, and opened my eyes after my silent recognition.

“It must be the marriage ceremony,” Ellaria proposed. “The poor bastard.”

“Aye, but which one?” Bronn teased. He leaned backwards a bit, and inclined his head towards Ellaria as he sang, “A coat of gold, a coat of red. A lion still has claws…”

“She’ll eat him alive,” Ellaria spitefully said. “Tear him into pieces.”

“I always thought it was the other way around.”

“Either way,” I piped up. “The Red Keep shall crumple and fall. And that is why we need Daenerys help more than ever.”

“I will fight for her still,” Ellaria proud fully said. “But only if she attacks King’s Landing.”

“So, will I.” I drew my dagger in front of my chest meditatively. “And this time I will kill Euron with my own hands.”

“We will need more men,” Ellaria pondered aloud. “There is still not enough.”

“King’s Landing will be defenseless,” Bronn suggested. “The Golden Company was sent to the Eyrie just this evening. And once they are finished there, they must go up north to fight the Starks.”

I flicked the dagger into the air and caught before it fell to the bottom of the boat. “I will send a raven to Sansa. She will help us… she must.”

“Sansa Stark?” Ellaria said with some uneasiness. “Wasn’t she married to that Imp?”

“And a Bolton,” I rejoined. “It was because of me that she escaped. She owes me that debt at least.”

“So,” Bronn loudly said. “You have the Martell’s, the Greyjoys and possibly the Starks. Who else can we get?”

“We need Daenerys army,” I said through gritted teeth. “I have enough boats to carry her army south, but I need her to agree to our terms.”

“Which is?” Anson piped up, finally taking part in our conversation.

“She must immediately take the Iron Throne and _hold_ it.”

Ellaria shifted the blanket over her shoulders more, trying to block out the cold northern winds. “And why would she refuse?” she asked, after she nuzzled herself closer to Bronn.

“Because she wants to defeat the dead first. But I think she should pay more attention to the living.”

“She will never agree to it.”

“She must.”

“You do know there is another heir to the Iron Throne, don’t you?” Bronn asked. He pushed his hair away from his forehead, letting it fall to the back of his neck. “That Stark bastard… Jon Snow.”

“Jon has no claim to the Iron Throne,” I assured him. “He’s a bastard, and that’s it.”

“He’s the son of a Targaryen,” Bronn retorted. “And his marriage to that Dragon Queen only strengthens his claim.”

 _How long have I been away,_ I thought, realizing just how much I missed on my travels. _Jon is a Targaryen?_

“You two looked shocked,” Bronn laughed.

Ellaria started to laugh as well, leaning into the brawny man beside her a little bit more. “Was she forced into it? He was so short… so…”

“Brooding,” I cut in with a similar smile.

“I don’t get it.”

Bronn stretched his arm around Ellaria’s shoulder, pulling her into his chest as he answered, “Well, if there was is attraction on both sides, it is only a matter of time till one of them gives in.”        

I flicked the dagger into the air one last time before I slid it back into the leather holster. The winds were bitterly cold now, a thing that made me lower myself into the boat a bit more. “So, you will fight with us?” I asked Ellaria, searching for some sort of confirmation.

“I will.” She raised her head in the air as she shouted, “Dorne is yours!”

We all sat in our strange little circle smiling at each other, knowing vengeance was near. _I will take back what is mine,_ I thought, as I pictured the Iron Islands in my mind’s eye. _And Euron shall be mine to kill- and mine alone._

 


	49. A Change of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jorah**

The howls of the Dothraki tribe could be heard just outside our tent. The horns blaring back and forth as men were battling each other to the death for fun. The look on Grey Worm’s face said it all: _Savages_. The tenseness between the two armies was splitting at the seams, and only the strength of Daenerys Targaryen held them together.

Missandei had her hand clasped together in front of her stomach, she still retained that greyish look to her face from the deathly cold she was still recovering from. Ever so quietly she stifled a cough and pressed her hand over her chest as she stared at the Queen in front of her. Daenerys was motionless as she sat upon the wooden stool, her eyes directed to the floor, but that still could not quell the anger in her gaze.

 _Never anger a dragon,_ I thought, as I stayed close to the shadows. She held the letter from Winterfell in the palm of her hand, half scrunching it between her child-like fingers.

Daenerys stood up abruptly, clenching her hands together at the sides of her waist. “Why is it nothing but ill news from them every time?” she asked into the gloom. No answer could be given, so she let those pale blue eyes flicker between the three of us. “You are the only council I have, and you all say _nothing._ ”

“Did she reject your offer?” Grey Worm inquired with the same placid expression as usual.

“She will accept it. Lady Baelish has requested the Unsullied Army, and the Unsullied Army _only._ ”

A quick look was exchanged between Missandei and Grey Worm.

“But that was after they she so casually remarked that her brother is a Targaryen.”

“He is a Stark, your Grace,” I objected, as I took a step into the light from the dying fire. “A bastard.”

“A Targaryen,” she corrected me. “She claims to have found it in ancient documents prescribed by an addling Maester, but it is enough proof to show Jon is the son of Lyanna Stark and…”

“And?” I asked, after I stood in front of her. She had a look of dismissal about her, though there was a fire burning behind her eyes.

“Why did he not tell me this?”

“Who is Jon’s father?” I questioned, in a flat tone of voice.

“Rhaegar,” she breathed. “Which makes him the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

 _Now, I see the dilemma._ I frowned much deeper than I should have when she looked up at me. _I’m supposed to be her rock- her bear, but I feel just as deeply as she._

“Which means all of this was for nothing.” She wrapped her arms around her frozen frame, it was still to early to see the baby bump. She huffed into the frozen air, letting a cloud of hot air swirl in front of her face.

“It is not all for nothing,” I corrected her in a fatherly voice. “It just means you must share the Iron Throne.”

“With a liar,” she fought back. “And with someone who risks too much to save the lives of others. If he really is the heir to the Iron Throne than he should use his force to destroy King’s Landing and take it from the Lannisters.”

“He did what he thought was best for his people.”

“And leaves me here,” she spat out. “For over a month I’ve been sitting here… wasting away.” She straightened her arms at her side with deliberation as she tried to compose herself. “My army is restless and are eager for war, but I must wait… wait for what? A letter? I haven’t heard from Jon since he left this campsite.”

“It has been bad weather, khaleesi.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” she snapped. “And I won’t hear any excuses, even from you.”

I nodded my head in understanding and watched her walk away from me. She turned to address her other two counselors now. “And what do you think?”

Grey Worm remained as still as a statue, immovable even when she casted him a haughty glare. “I think…” Missandei deliberated. “I think you should fight.”

“Fight whom?” Grey Worm proposed with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

“The White Walkers.”

I raised my hand slightly to get their attention. “Or, take the fight down south where we truly belong. We didn’t go all the way across the Narrow Sea for nothing.”

“You wish me to abandon Jon?” Daenerys asked with a slight tremor.

 _Well, he did abandon you._ I rested my hand on my hip instead and let the silence speak for itself.

Daenerys looked down at the floor in silent contemplation, digging her right toe into the frigid floor beneath us. “If I stay out here any longer I will die… my child will die.”

“Then what do you suggest we do, Khaleesi?”

“We separate our army. One will go north to fight the white walkers and the other south.”

“There is strength in numbers,” Grey Worm reminded her. He straightened his back a little, once Daenerys gave him a long considerate look. “We are stronger together.”

“But I cannot be in two places at once,” she mused aloud. Daenerys headed over to the stool, and once she was firmly seated on the wooden seat she unravelled the letter again. “Lady Baelish is Jon’s half-sister.” She folded the letter neatly this time and pressed it into the palm of her hand. “I cannot let her face the Lannister army alone. The army that I was supposed to _destroy_ when I landed on Dragonstone.”

She stood up to face us again, her mind already made up when she added, “If I help them now, the Lady of Winterfell will be more willing to send away her troops to fight at my side when the true war begins. I need allies, and the Starks are well known for their large defensive forces.”

“The Starks are all gone away now,” I reasoned. “It is Baelish that runs the castle now. A small, yet ambitious lordling who is not to be trusted.”

“What do you know of him?”

“Not much, except that he served on the King’s Council for many years. He has been a advisor for the Lannister family, an ally, and a man not to be trusted with such-”

“You speak of the past, Ser Jorah, but I speak of the present,” she interrupted. “Your past is just as blighted as he is, for whenever I utter your name to anyone in the North they scoff at the mention of you.”

“I have suffered in exile because of what I have done, but he-”

“Whatever he has done shall be forgotten,” she interjected in a loud voice. “They have both pledged their fidelity to me.”

I bit at my lip, not wanting to angry the Mother of Dragons further.

“Grey Worm,” she called out. “I want you to take your entire army to Winterfell.”

“The entire army?” he asked in surprise.

“All of it! Lady Sansa is certain the Lannister army will attack them soon, and I want you to be ready for it.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“I shall keep the Dothraki here.”

I walked up behind her, taking in the difference of our stature when I was so close. “And what do you intend to do with them, Khaleesi?”

“I shall go north.”

“But Jon asked you to stay here,” I rebutted, while rubbing my recently shaved chin. “He made it quite clear.”

“I know what he said,” she shrilled, showing she was truly on the last straw. _She is more agitated than_ _her normal self,_ I reasoned, _it must be the pregnancy._

“Khaleesi, are you feeling alright?” I asked in a soothing voice as I rested my hand on the side of her shoulder.

“I think- I think,” she stammered out, as she rubbed her hand over her stomach. “I think I need some rest. This is all too much of a shock for me.”

“I understand.”

We all gave her a ceremonious bow before we turned to leave. The soft voice of Daenerys calling my name held me back, however, so I stopped at the tent’s entrance way, feeling the difference between the frigid temperature outside and the heat at my back from her fire. “Ser Jorah,” she called out again, which made me look over my shoulder to see her standing in front of the blue flames. “Stay for a moment.”

I slowly turned around, hearing the echo of my footfall upon the floor as I made my way back to her. She had her hands clasped together when I approached her, a soft timid look shined upon her face as she gazed back at me. “Khaleesi,” I uttered from the back of my throat, as I wondered why she was looking at me that way.

“Sit with me,” she entreated, and went over to the other side of the tent where her bed was. She patted a spot beside her and nodded her head for me to be seated. I felt suddenly awkward beside her, now that she was staring at my profile with furrowed eyebrows. “Do you think I made a mistake?”

“With what, Khaleesi?”

“Marrying Jon?”

“I think you did what you thought was best.”

Her lips pouted a bit as she looked away from me. _She didn’t like what I had to say- so be it._

“It was rash,” she contemplated. “Quick.”

“You were in love,” I stated. “And so was he.”

“Yes, but he left me after our wedding night.”

The corner of my lip tugged downward, a thing that made her giggle lightly. “Do you ever smile, Ser Jorah?”

“Sometimes.”

“Hmmm,” she said with a grin. “I don’t believe you.”

“You known me long enough. Surely, you have seen me smile before.”

“If I did, I can’t remember.” She moved herself closer to me, displaying a sudden change of mood. I looked down at her suspiciously, taking in that mystified expression as she stared back at me.

“Khaleesi is not herself,” I bemused, after I turned my gaze away from her.

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “And why is that, Ser Jorah?”

“I can hardly guess,” I answered her as I loosened my shoulders up a bit. They felt tight from the strain, and the long nights of sleeping on the floor only worsened it.

“Here,” she piped up, and laid those small, dainty fingers over my shoulders. _What is she doing,_ I thought, as she began to massage my tense muscles. She crawled behind me, her small form eclipsing me with her shadow as she leaned forward and dug her fingers into my bones. I let out a reluctant sigh, half embarrassed that she should hear me. Daenerys continued however, even when a strange silence fell between us. Her hands wandered closer to my neck, and I closed my eyes remembering all of those images of her I have had in my head for as long as I can remember. _But someone else always got in the_ _way,_ I thought, and found my eyes opening with the remembrance of it.

She pecked her lips on the side of my cheek suddenly, and that made me turn my head to her. She backed up nervously, a small smile still gracing her lips. My eyes lowered from her soft blue eyes to her lips, and I just knew she could read my unutterable thoughts. She bit her lips timidly, and then slid herself off the bed. “Forgive me,” she said, after she took a few steps away. “I don’t want to lead you on.”

I looked down at my blemished hands on my lap, taking in the greyish scars that traveled across my once strong hands. Daenerys must have sensed my sober thoughts, for she reached forward and took my hands in her own. “You deserve a good woman, Jorah. One that will love you.”

“I had that once,” I murmured. “A very long time ago.”

“But she left you.”

“Yes,” I assented. “But she loved me for a time.”

She let go of my hands and let her fingers glide through the tips of my hair, staring down at me with a sad expression. “You will be happy again someday,” she promised me, and only then took a few steps away. “I need to rest. Goodnight, Ser Jorah.”

“Khaleesi,” I muttered, and rose to my feet. I stood in front of her, however, wishing I had something else to say to grant me a few more minutes with her alone. _I have nothing._

She offered me a small smile as I turned away from her, but it was nothing like what I wanted her to really do. _She will never love me,_ I surmised, and with that thought affixed in my mind I chose to leave her without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the next chapter will be my 50th I will plan something special for Petyr and Sansa, as a way to celebrate just how far they have come. Hope to see you then!
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish


	50. A Pretty Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, willhe finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

_In a better world; one where love could overcome strength and duty; you might have been my child - but we don’t live in that world. You’re more beautiful than she ever was._

_Lord Baelish._

_Call me Petyr._

It was the light specks of snow that brought back this old memory. The soft swirling of the crystal white flakes fell over my shoulders and pecked the tip of my nose as I stood underneath the Weirwood tree. The air was cooler here, quiet as a grave, which knew no other visitors except him and I. Petyr was stroking his black stallion, hushing gentle words to calm her down. The stallion knew of the power here; the kind that was felt as I pressed my bare hand on the aspen white bark - a force ran through me, a connection that was hard to put into words.

A cry of raven was heard overhead, and another kind of recollection came over me as I pictured Bran in his handmade wheelchair assuring me he was the Three-Eyed Raven. _He told me he could see everything, so can he see us now?_

Petyr tied the horse’s bridles to a nearby tree, paying attention to my horse now, whose side was speckled over with black spots over the fair white stallion. He had chosen that one specifically for me, mentioning that its coy demeanor reminded him of a certain someone. Petyr rubbed his gloved hands together, trying to get some warmth back after our long ride. He turned his head to me now, staring at me with an blank expression but I could see the pride shining from his eyes. He had finally got what he wanted, and what he wanted was me.

“Petyr,” I called out, and stood perfectly still as he strode towards me. He walked with his usual confident swagger, the kind that I found more attractive then I should. His gloved hand went over the side of my cheek once he was finally near me, tilting his head downward until his brow was pressed to mine.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered just under his breath.

“About us.”

He lifted his head upward to give me a firm kiss, one that was full of affection. “It was good, I hope," he muttered after he licked the bottom of his lip teasingly at me.

“I was thinking about the time you first kissed me.”

“Ah,” he said with a slight curl of his lips. “That.”

“You said I was more beautiful than my mother.”

“You are the most beautiful thing…” he paused to place both of his hands on the sides of my arm. “I have ever seen.”

I smiled slightly at that, matching his look as he took me into his arms to give me another kiss. He broke away after a while, leaning his cheek against my own. “Our child will be the same,” he whispered, and felt his grip go a little tighter. “I just wish it was here now.”

I moved my head away to take a better look at him. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I’m a patient man, Sansa, but for once my patience is wearing itself thin.”

“It will come at the right time,” I assured him, and let my gloved hand brush a few snowflakes off the top of his shoulders. “And when it does we will be ready for it.”

Slow blinks escaped him as he lowered his head downwards, and I could tell he was deep in thought now. The wind blew harder against us, but not enough for us to go indoors just yet. I slipped my hands under the long flaps of his coat, taking shelter in his cloth wings as the snow came down from the sky in larger clumps. “It will be a child of winter,” I mused aloud, and heard a soft chuckle escape Petyr’s lips.

“How fitting,” he murmurred, before he slipped out of my arms. “I have some things to show you still.”

“Still?”

“Yes, Sansa,” he said with hearty smile. “There is still much more to see before we head in.”

Petyr had already shown me the plot of land that he set out for a garden, and another section dedicated entirely for vegetation once spring returned to Winterfell again. Petyr was a planner, but the full extent of his preparation was now apparent to me as we spent the whole day discussing our plans for the future.

“Put on your hood, sweetling,” Petyr instructed, once we were both mounted upon our stallions again. “It’s a long ride, but it will show my most recent investment.” He shot me a coy grin before he reared his foot into the side of the horse and set off west from the Winterfell’s gates. Side by side we rode down the snowy fields, past the Weirwood forests, and soon we were following an icy river that was heading downstream. The land we were crossing was barren, not a soul could be seen across the frost covered floor, but soon I spotted a wall made of pure stones and that is where Petyr stopped and dismounted his horse.

“Is this it?” I asked, as I looked to the right and left of me to see the rocky wall stretching out for miles. We were on a part of a land I had never seen before, too far west of Winterfell’s gate to pay any particular attention too.

“It is,” he said with a suspicious look in his eyes. “You are not impressed with what you see?”

“It looks like farmland.”

“It was,” he murmurred as he smoothed his fingers across the stony grey wall that was leveled to his waist. “But it was abandoned long ago, before your father left Winterfell to go south.”

“Why?”

“Bad soil. Not _profitable_ enough to yield crops.” He paused to step into my space, letting his fingers play with a stray lock of coppery hair. “But luckily for me… I have other plans for it.”

“What?”

He smiled at me, a genuine one that took me by surprise. “The Northerns concerns themselves with farming and hunting, even more so once you go beyond Winterfell. I see this as a backward society, and if we wish to be leveled- no greater than the other houses in Westeros than we must invest our time and resources differently.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, sweetling, that this winter will be a long one. And during this time there will be a lot of farmers, hunters and other types of men who work the land  that will suffer, and do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because of this…” he paused, to scoop up a handful of snow and held it in front of me. “They have no work… nothing to do until spring comes again. Why did you think they were so quick to run to Winterfell once there was a shortage of grain? And more importantly, why did you think I sent them off to our neighbouring houses?”

“You said to win the approval of the Northern lords?”

“I did, but that was only one reason.” He dropped the snow back to the earth, while he took a step backwards to lean against the stony wall. “They will remember what you have done, but the peasants will remember you more for what you will do in the future.”

“What will I do?” I asked, not liking that mischievous look in his eye.

Petyr pointed out to the vast land in front of us, letting his eyes imagine a thing that was indistinguishable to me. “You will build a large fortress that will serve a multitude of people. Here the people- our people shall be educated, and not have to rely on the lifestyle that have been so rigidly installed on us for generation after generation. When I was a boy my father sent me away to receive an education, to enjoy a proper way of life. Although my time in the Riverlands had left me with this scar and more…” he paused to rub his hand over the tell-tale wound. “It has taught me how a Lord should present themselves; it gave me opportunities, Sansa, ones that I hope our child shall experience, as well as your people.”

“But why are you doing this?” I exclaimed, taken back by Petyr’s sudden concern for the Northerns.

“Because I made an oath to you,” he explained with an honest look. “To serve you and your House."

“I don’t understand…”

“Sansa,” he uttered to break the momentary silence. His hand reached down to interlace his fingers with my own. “Your people will never love me. I will always be...  a man who doesn’t deserve to be your husband and the Lord of Winterfell. But you, my love, _you_ are the future of House Stark. And I want to see our name last for a generations, and the only way that will happen is if we ensure its survival.” He looked away from me now, letting his eyes fall over the vast plain. “And it starts here! I have already sent for Maesters to come to Winterfell. I want education to flourish here… science, math, law....” he paused with half a smile as he directed his gaze to me. “Politics."

“So, you’re investing in our future.”

“I am.”

“And when will all this be ready?"

“A year or two.” He shrugged slightly, as his eyes darted all over my face. “Maybe more. I have already hired someone to retain hard working men to start building immediately. I have found a fully belly and pocket full of gold will bring even the faintest of men."

“It’s a good plan,” I assented, and found Petyr’s arms wrapping around me the second I uttered it. He was pleased, and so was I the longer I considered the matter. “Who will go here?”

“Anyone who wants to learn. As long as they pledge allegiance to our House than they will be allowed into the school.”

“You mean to you?” I said with a sarcastic voice and pecked him on the cheek in good humour.

“Of course to me,” he answered, as he steered me back to our horses. “We needs as much allies as we can get.”

“Why?”

Petyr ignored my question and helped me climb atop of the horse. He winked at me playfully before he sauntered back to his black stallion. “This has been a productive day,” he proclaimed with a pleased air. He mounted his horse with ease, and brought it forward to me. “First we receive news that the Unsullied are on our way, and now you see all the plans I have to ensure the survival of House Stark.”

“I still think you’re making a mistake,” I shot back. Our horses were side by side now, trekking their way up the deep mounds of snow that would lead us back to Winterfell. “Sending gold to Hardyng is one thing, but our men as well.”

“You think we should have declined him?”

“I think we should have saved our own skin.” The corner of his lips fell down slightly, but I still continued, “It shows we think Hardyng’s actions are acceptable, and only adds fire to the gossip-”

“Gossip,” Petyr scoffed. “If we concerned ourselves with what others think than we would have never made it this far at all.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Wrong,” he breathed, and pulled his horse’s bridle to bring themselves. “You think I haven’t consider all the options.”

“I think its reckless!”

“Have I ever been reckless?” he rapped out from the corner of his mouth.

“No..." I bit down on my lip before I turned an angry gaze at him. “Yes!"

“Ignorance,” he shot back with an equally dangerous look. “Is not the same as recklessness. I didn’t know about Ramsay.”

“So, you’ve said before.”

“Sansa,” he drawled in a deep tenor. “Can we not talk about this now?”

“Like we talk about it _ever._ ”

He grunted low under his breath and forced his gaze away from me. “I made a mistake,” he confessed. “But that doesn’t mean I will make the same mistake again. Sending Hardyng one-third of our men will show we mean what we say, that we will in fact align our strength with his own. Besides, you heard what Varys said! A foreign army hired by Cersei- the same woman responsible for your family’s death is sending the Golden Company to slaughter the Vale’s army and once that is done-”

“I know what she wants to do afterwards," I cut in. _She's been wanting to kill me since Joffrey's death._

“Then why are you questioning me?" He asked in a curt tone of voice. "I think we should do whatever we can to stop the Golden Company before its too late."

“But I don’t trust him,” I said in a low tenor. It was barely audible, and yet, Petyr heard it all the same.

“I don’t want you to trust Hardyng.” Petyr pulled the reins of the bridle to stop his horse. “I only want you to trust _me_.”

“You told me I was a great leader-”

“And you are.”

“Then let me lead!”

“Sansa,” he pleaded in a deep voice. “We are fighting against everyone, don’t let us fight against each other as well.” I rounded my horse to face him, noticing the saddness in his eyes. “You worry Hardyng will betray us? Everyone is your enemy - everyone is your friend. I told you that before, remember? If we lose a third of our army in the coming war than its a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

“But why?”

“Because there are pawns and there are players, and I prefer to be the latter.” He reared his foot abruptly into the horse so he could trot around me. “We may lose some of our men, but what will that gain us? A strengthened alliance with Hardyng if he wins the war, and it shows that we will stay true to our word.”

“But you never stay true to your word!" I whimpered, as I watched him pass me.

“To you I will - always, but to everyone else my word is as good as when I made my vows to Lysa. It is only convenient when it is an advantage to me."

“So, you’ll betray Hardyng?”

Petyr looked over his shoulder with a mocking smile. He turned his head away to look back at the open field ahead of him as he answered, “I’ll betray _anyone_ to get what I want! Before I pictured myself on the Iron Throne, but do you know what I see now? Our enemies falling one by one. Cersei, Danererys… Jon.”

“Jon isn’t an enemy.”

"You want _him_ to sit on the Iron Throne, Sansa?”

“No, but if he does sit there…” I stopped and licked my lips nervously, knowing he wouldn’t like the next bit. “He would make a great leader.”

“He would,” Petyr deliberated. “And the people would love him. Far more than Daenerys Targaryen."

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m more worried about their child,” he muttered, after he turned his gaze away. “But we must face one problem at a time.”

“Why?” I blurted out after a brief pause in our conversation. “Why do you want the Iron Throne?”

“All my life I wanted power. You have no idea what its like to be belittled, scorned because of your name… or lack of it.” He tilted his head upward to the sky, pursing his lips slightly with a faint grimace. “I’ll have no one deny me what I want ever again."

“But you have so much already."

“I do,” he drawled, and closed the lids of his eyes for a moment. “But I have this picture in my head that I can’t get out. I told you of it under the Weirwood tree the day we took Winterfell back from the Boltons. You said it was a pretty picture.”

“I did.”

“And do you want to make that picture a reality?” he asked in a raspy voice, as he narrowed his eyes at me.

“I’m not sure,” I replied and rubbed the sides of my arms feverishly. The cold was getting to me now, and this conversation made me feel like we were treading on thin ice. One misstep and we could plummet it to our death. “There is too much at risk, Petyr.”

“There is,” he assented. “Winterfell is your home. Always. But there could be another home as well.”

“KIng’s Landing has too many bad memories for me. My father was executed there. And then I was held prisoner by the Lannister's. Beaten, humiliated-”

“Sansa,” he cut in with a tired voice. “Who said we need to rule Westeros from King’s Landing?”

“But…” I looked at him, truly looked at him to try and see the secrets that hid behind his darkened eyes.

“Do you remember that snow castle Robin stomped on after you hit him? The way it crushed beneath his feet until there was nothing left? That’s what we will do to Westeros. Its been happening since before I met you. And it will continue to do so, even now, as my plots continue to fall into my favour. Sansa, we must destroy this old world to build a better one.” He smiled at me with a suspicious look in his eye. “King’s Landing will fall. Winterfell… our _home_ will be the new center of power, and it will be here that the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms will bend their knee and pledge their allegiance to us.”

“To us?” I asked in shock. “Could this actually happen?”

“It is already happening, sweetling,” he quipped. He reached for my hand and pressed my gloved hand to his lip. “And that is my gift to you, my love, Winterfell and the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.” He kissed my hand soundly, and only when he gazed in my direction did he drawl, “And you will be Queen.”


	51. Wolf Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jon**

_Maybe I missed something._ I followed the dry splotches of blood again, treking down the rocky descent that winded around the forest floor. It was so hard to tell which was Arya’s when it was mingled in with the pool of blood shedded by Ghost. The floor was frozen over now, crunching beneath my feet in the soft morning light. My men were still taking shelter in the abandoned hut; Gendry was my only companion as he walked close behind me _She could be anywhere,_ I noted, this forest would stretch out as far as the eye could see when we were at camp, but being inside of it was a different thing entirely.

The white walkers had long since left us, but that did not mean they weren’t a threat. I had Longclaw tightly gripped in my hand, feeling a sense of comfort knowing my valyrian blade was near. Lord Beric’s blade was sheathed to my left side, but I had not the will to use it right now.

 _Remember the dead are the true enemy,_ rang through my ears as I barreled down the long hill. _Right now it feels like the cold,_ I thought, noticing how pained my fingers felt inside of my gloves.

“Our father’s would be proud,” Gendry piped up. He swung himself in front of me, ignorant of the pain I was currently experience as I searched for any trace of my sister. “Us fighting side by side.”

“My father always warned us that Winter was Coming,” I answered him. “But I never expected it to come so soon.”

Gendry stopped in front of me to pick up a black strip of cloth. “Look at this,” he relayed as he held it in front of me. “Soaked in blood.”

“It’s Arya’s,” I informed him. “I’m almost sure of it.”

“Well, its been torn to bits.” He placed the shredded cloth into the palm of my hand. “Least we have a clue of what happened.”

“Why did she go into the forest alone?”

“You’re her brother,” he voiced aloud. “Why do you think she would come here?”

I pocketed the shredded cloth into my coat pocket. “To be alone,” I answered him, knowing she was always something of a lone wolf. “I just wonder why Ghost followed her.”

“The only way we can find that out is if we find her.” Gendry looked down at his feet, examining the floor around him in search of more clues. _Nothing,_ I thought, as I rose myself from my feet after a fruitless search and began to mount the hill again.

“We should head back,” I yelled over my shoulder. “Or the others will come looking for us.”

The air was still for most of the trek, a faint call from a raven could be heard overhead. The squaking from a vulture was also perceived, obviously they found the remains of Ghost and was getting ready for a morning feast. There would be no trace of Lord Beric, however, I made sure of that when I burned the body under the clear night sky.

 _He said I was the Prince that was Promised,_ I mused, but all I felt was a man who was greatly burdened by so many things. _I never_ _wanted any of this,_ I pondered, all I wanted was to be a Stark- not a bastard, and now I’ve been told that I am a son of a Targaryen.

Gendry brushed his shoulder against me accidently, and only when he caught my moody expression did he assure me that we would find my sister. _If she is still alive,_ I thought, and with the amount of white walkers trailing across the forest who know what we would find here. _We have to get back,_ I deliberated, knowing if we stayed in here too long the Wildlings would get restless and then I would really be in trouble.  

“Do you really think we can beat them?” Gendry suddenly asked, after we saw the wooden shed where my men were sleeping.

“The white walkers?” I asked, as I turned my darkened gaze to him.

“Yeah.”

“They gave you quite a fright,” I joked, and stopped myself once I saw him raise his hammer a little. “I think we can beat them, but it will be at a great cost.”

“We should have taken the whole force,” Gendry uttered in a low tone of voice while he looked away from me.

“I’m not risking it,” I sighed. “Dany is too important to me.”

“You are willing to put one life above others.”

“She’s all I have,” I relented. “And our child.”

“Your child won’t even make it through winter if we don’t stop them.”

I cut him off by slamming an open hand into his chest, forcing him a few steps away from me. “What do you want from me?” 

“I don’t want to go into this fight and lose,” he shot back. “I think we should wait for more reinforcements.”

“In case you haven’t realized we don’t have time for that. The Night King is on his way right now and-”

“We need her dragons!”

“We _need_ to stick together. We can win this war, but it can only be done if we work together.” Gendry lowered his head in silent contemplation, so I glanced over his shoulder to see Davos stagger out of the shed with The Hound closely behind him.

“I just…” Gendry sputtered out, and raised his hammer to his chest with deliberation. “Don’t want to end up like your Direwolf, that’s all.”

“Neither do I.”

“If it comes down to that,” Gendry muttered, and finally raised his eyes to me. “I want you to kill me… make sure I don’t come back.”

“I won’t,” I assured him, and stretched out my hand for him to shake. He gave me a firm grip, shaking it rigidly before he let it fall back to his side.

“You two look like your making up,” Davos taunted as he approached us.

I ignored this slight gibe and slipped Longclaw back into my leather sheath. “Davos,” I mentioned with an indifferent air, and then directed my gaze to the towering man behind him. “Clegane.”

“Still no sign of your sister?” Davos piped up with his hands on either sides of his hips.

“Not yet.”

Gendry walked into the circle with his hammer down to his side. “We found a shred of cloth covered in blood. We think it might be Arya’s.”

“We should have cut the wolf’s belly and examine it for bones,” Davos said without thinking. “Oh, I’m sorry Jon,” he stammered out once he saw the way my eyebrows lowered over my eyes. “I’m sure your sister is fine.”

“We should head back to camp,” I announced as I turned away from them. “Then we bring back a search crew. I’m not leaving this area until my sister is found.”

 _We don’t have time for that,_ I thought to myself, but that did not stop my feet from stomping into the thick layer of snow that covered the forest floor. _What if Gendry is right and I sacrifice too much for one person even though it puts others in danger?_

I looked over my shoulder to see the glower over the three men’s faces. _It has been a long night,_ I noted, _and I have a feeling this day will feel even longer._

* * *

An open plain stretched before my eyes, and before it were thousands of dead men staggering across the frozen lake with hollow blue eyes. _It's so cold,_ I thought, before I saw something large and fearsome pushing its way into the front of the crowd. The people moved silently to the sides and let this creature through, and a few moments passed before I heard a harrowing howl that shook me to the bones. Longclaw slipped out of the palm of my hand as Ghost stepped into view, and I just knew by the hungry, vengeful look in his eyes that this war was through. They raised their weapons at the same time as the wolf lifted his head to give out another cry, and at that moment I heard a thrushing sound in the air like loud thunder claps resounding in the sky, but what was there I did not see for a sudden coldness came over me that forced myself awake from this dreadful dream.

 _They’re coming,_ I realized, as I staggered out of my bed. The air was brisk as I searched the foot of my bed for my cloak, gripping onto Longclaw for dear life as I pushed my way through the tent curtains and into the moonlight. The campsite was silent, only the thrill of the harsh winter winds could be heard over the open field where we were stationed. _We should have left long ago_ , I deliberated, not wanting to admit that seven days in the same spot wasn’t entirely the best idea. I walked over the sheet of ice just outside my tent, taking in the pale blue sky that was clear enough to see a full moon. _I feel like I should howl at it,_ I thought, but it must have been the part of me that was still attached to Ghost, even when he was gone I could still feel him.

 _What if I have the same fate as him?_ The eeriness of this night made the thought possible, even more so when I could vaguely hear the screeching of the white walkers in the forest a few leagues of us. _We have been so worried about the ones in there that we forgot to remember the true threat._

I walked past the lines of tents, checking to see if there was anything to be suspicious about. Everything looked the same as when I retired for the night: the same empty firepit, the same pile of bones from the last of a good meal scattered across the empty patch of snow, and the wooden cage that broke apart when were moving it that sent all of our ravens out into a wild frenzy. _They never did_ _return,_ I mused, and felt a twisting feeling in the bottom of my stomach knowing that Dany would begin to worry.

 _She will want to come,_ I realized, as I walked past the last bits of tents and trekked around the wooden pole that held the few remaining horses that we used for our travels. They looked frozen to the bone as I approached them, barely moving, and when I finally did stand in front of them I wish I could be surprised to see their lifeless figures laying across the floor. _It was too cold for them, and it is beginning to get to cold for us as well._

 _There will be some meat for us tomorrow,_ I considered, after I let my hand stroke the frigid muscle of the horses leg. It felt hard to the touch, a thing that concerned me greatly when I thought of what my body would look like if I ended up in that same state.

 _Maybe I should turn back?_ The thought was tempting, but that would mean all of our efforts would be vainless. _I have to stay and fight the Night King,_ I reminded myself, but I felt faint just thinking about it.

Everything felt like it was going from bad to worse. There was still no sign of Arya, the ravens escaping meant there was no way of communicating with Dany or my sister, Sansa. I was completely alone with no one to guide me and an army that was losing its moral the longer we were out here.

 _Maybe I should have taken Rhaegal,_ I pondered, _but would that be enough to fight the Night King's army?_

I fell to the floor, not minding the cold surface that was felt beneath me. _I am half Stark after all, and nothing in the world can take away_ _that._ I unsheathed Longclaw, analysing the mysterious glimmer of the moon’s raying bouncing off it. _I wish I was home,_ I thought, _I_ _wish I was with Dany._ It was clear I was losing hope, but how could I not when the future looked so bleak?

 _I could be sitting on the Iron Throne,_ I contemplated, but the image never sat well in my mind’s eye, it would vanish the moment I pictured it. _Sansa would be better suited at it,_ I deliberated. _She had always wanted to be Queen._

I wondered how she was fairing now, it had been so long since I had seen her last. I left Winterfell to her, and now I found myself wondering how she would handle it all with no one to guide her. _She didn’t want me to go- I should have stayed._ The dim reflection of myself seemed to be mocking me, so I lowered my sword and placed it back into my leather sheath. _So many regrets,_ I surmised, _but I still must carry on._ I lifted myself off the ground, brushing off the clumps of snow that clung to my leather and fur jacket. There was nothing to do but go forward, so I turned myself around and went back to camp, even if death itself was waiting for me.

* * *

Death did not wait for me, but another dream did. I saw a thickened forest with tree branches scattered across the ground. It was snowing heavily there, a myriad of flakes filled the sky until I could barely see. I was there, but I wasn’t- a mere shade of me stood in the shadows of the forest. I felt someone was watching me, and when I turned my head to the right I saw my brother, Bran, staring at me with pale white eyes. He was motionless, but I knew he had spotted me, for he raised his hand forward to beckon me forward. There was an ancient Weirwood tree behind his back, one I had never seen before with a placid expression. Bran’s back leaned just beside it, his clothes covered in ice and brown soil. It was clear he had been digging through the snow to get to the roots of the tree, and it was there I saw a root as thick as my arm jutting out of the earth where my brother’s bare hand was wrapped around it.

“Bran,” I hushed, as I knelt beside him. He remained perfectly still, but still he saw me with those unseen eyes.

“Listen,” he breathed after a while, and then a chorus of howls echoed through the forest. _I know that sound,_ I thought, and felt in my heart that they belonged to us. Lady, Grey Wolf, Summer, Shaggy Dog, all howling into the winter winds that carried it to where I stood. “They are calling us home,” Bran muttered in barely a breath.

“I’m not ready to go home,” I responded, and moved myself closer to my crippled brother. “I have to defeat the Night King.”

Bran seemed to be looking through me, while his heavy cloaked flapped in the wind. He seemed almost unearthly, as if he no longer belonged to this world.

“There is one missing,” Bran mentioned, as he turned his head away from me. “But she knows she can never go home.”

“Who?” I asked with a worried expression.

“Listen,” Bran instructed, and I saw his fingers grow tighter around the root of the tree. I looked away into the starry sky and did listen for a while, and after a few more howls I noticed something was missing after all.

“Where is Arya’s?” I questioned him. “I don't hear Nymeria. Does that mean Arya is still out there somewhere- alive?"

“Arya,” Bran said in a chilling tone of voice. His pale white eyes turned to me while he retained that same dead-pan expression. “Arya has gone home."

“To Winterfell?" I asked. Bran looked down at the tree root, and I felt there was something not right with by silent demeanor. “Bran? What is it?"

His tone was lower than usual when he answered me: "A life must pay for a life, Jon."

I raised myself from the floor, towering over Bran as my eyes flickered over him in silent bewilderment. "What are you saying?" I blurted out as I felt my heart rate beat a little faster. "Are you saying she is dead?"

Bran's eyes remained transfixed to the root of the tree, his movements were stilted and stiff under my heated gaze. _He says nothing._ The wind fell softer, and I felt the world around me starting to dim as if I was fading out the dream. "Bran!" I called out, and for a second I saw a glimpse of his dark brown eyes as he lifted his head in my direction. "Is our sister dead?" I demanded, ignoring the fact that she could no longer be referred to as my sister now that I knew the truth.

"She is," Bran said quietly as the vision started to fade. "A life must pay for a life," he repeated under his breath. The moonlight faded and so did the trees around us as he echoed in a haunting voice, "But the North remembers."


	52. A Hand of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Tyrion**

The squawking of chickens could be heard as I walked past the moving carts, squealing much to loud for this time of day. Servants were already scampering across the main square, hurring to their masters to start the day. There was a group of boys playing catch with a leather ball, until a elderly lady shooed them away to start their chores. _I’ve never had to deal with that,_ I thought, being a Lannister had some advantages, even if I was an imp.

The snarling of a horse drew my attention, and I stepped off the side of the main road to let a well-dressed man trott his way to the main entrance of Winterfell. _There goes another one,_ I mused, taking an eager interest in this Northern Lord that had been summoned by the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. All night long they had been pouring in, and I knew this would continue for a few days more until the day of the great feast. _Littlefinger is up to something,_ I contemplated, _but what his intentions were remained a mystery to me._

A carriage rode past me now, the driver anxiously trying to catch up with the Northern Lord that was now mingling himself with the shopkeepers in the open marketplace. A few excited cries escaped the inside of the carriage, and I could only suppose there was young girls inside of it, ecstatic to see Winterfell for the first time. _The first time I was here I was more interested in finding a whore as fast_ _as I could,_ I remembered, and wondered how I could be so changed now- so little interested in wine and whores, and more on being the hand of the Queen.

There were shouts from the open marketplace as I walked through the throng of people, most of them trying to sell freshly baked bread and pastries, others selling meat that was just hunted the day before. Lord Baelish had encouraged this kind of venture, stating that such businesses would bring in more gold and people to Winterfell. He was a man who invested in whorehouses and ships, but now he was putting money into small businesses; those who were generally ignored where now called forth once a week to have a seat in Lord Baelish’s throne room where he speak to the owners to discuss ways to bring in more clientele and inevitably more money for Winterfell. Littlefinger did the unthinkable yesterday when he announced that the monthly taxes should be decreased for every landowner and Lord in the North. In the past the Boltons had demanded much, but now Lord Baelish seems intent on rectifying the situation. _If he wishes to win the people’s favour he may soon have it,_ I noted, noticing how quick people were to speak favourably of him. Lady Baelish was also winning appraisal from her people, and the prospect of a child on the way made the Northerns hopeful again.

I walked through the heavy wooden doors, taking in the Stark sigil carved into it that Lord Baelish had ordered a week ago. _He wants them to remember that this land will always belong to the Starks,_ I surmised, _and yet, it is his name, Baelish, that will be carried down from generation to generation in the halls of Winterfell._ I was never close with Ned Stark, but I knew he would have not wanted his family legacy to go down this way. _And my father wouldn’t have wanted this either,_ I recollected, remembering how determined he was to marry off Sansa Stark to me.

A joyful laughter escaped a group of men, a circle of them were standing just beyond the open entrance way where they greeting each other. They were Lords of the North, all clad in leather and heavy furs. The peoples manners were foreign to me, rough and to the point as they loudly walked down the main hall a few feet ahead of me. _Litttlefinger will have his hands full,_ I thought with a smile, knowing he would not relate well with these Northern Lords. He had no skills in weaponary or hunting, and his charming manners and elegant dress would be greeted with animosity by these Northern men. _Lady Sansa will have her trouble as well. She spent most of her youth in the south; it doesn't help that she was married to a Lannister and a Bolton, both sworn enemies of the Starks._

I turned to the left to take a secret set of stairs, not wanting to trail behind the group of men any further. The stairs was a shadowy grey and tight in space, but being so small I could pass through the area easily. I had always liked how this place echoed, the way my footsteps clattered across the closed air space as I waddled up the steps. Taking in a deep breath I sang low:

“He rode to a woman’s sigh, for she was his secret treasure. She was his shame and his bliss, and a chain and a keep are nothing…”

A loud sound echoed from the tops of the staircase, which made me stop in my tracks. I listened to hear another sound, and just when I was about to give up and walk up the staircase again I heard a familiar voice call out my name.

 _Varys_ , I thought, and shook my head in annoyance. _Is there any part of the castle that he doesn’t creep about?_

He sat there patiently on the top staircase, his hands placed over his knees as he gave me a knowing look. “Someone’s on your mind?” he asked, with a shadow of a smirk.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ve heard you sing that song before,” he remarked, as he patted the empty part of the staircase beside him.

“For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm,” I sang to him, which made his face fall slightly with a somber look.

“She should have never betrayed you like that,” he chided while he pulled down his sleeves to cover his hands. “But that is how whores are… always looking for the next one.”

“I thought she loved me,” I confessed. “But obviously… I was wrong.”

“Not all of us can be as happy as Lord Baelish,” he sighed. “And believe me, I’m getting sick of it.”

I laughed in front of him as I rose to my feet. “Aren’t we all,” I agreed, and allowed myself to smile widely at my dear friend. “He let you live, so there’s something.”

“Hmmm... “ he murmured before he stroked the bottom of his chin. “You have no idea how difficult it is to evade his guards.

“A challenge?”

Varys turned around to walk across the rough tiled floor that would lead us to the main hallways in the upper levels of Winterfell. “A great nuisance, believe me,” he sighed, and suppressed a yawn as he we walked side by side together. “Are you ready for this council meeting?”

“Not really,” I answered him as I lifted my head to get a better look at him. “But at least I’m useful.”

“Yes, its not Jon, Jon, and Jon,” Varys taunted with half a roll of his eyes. “The council meetings with Daenerys was almost non-existent.”

“That’s because we weren’t fucking her,” I pointed out, a thing that gave me a look of scorn from my friend. “I wonder how she is… no word from Daenerys still?”

“No,” Varys replied, after he turned sharply down an unknown hallway and draped himself in the shadows as he pulled over his hood. “I have heard many whispers lately,” he said in a quiet tone of voice. “Many you will not like to hear.”

“Oh?”

“But it must wait until the council meeting.”

“You cannot tell me now?” I asked him, as I waddled behind him. He placed a hand on me when we heard footsteps ahead of us, and motioned me to be quiet as he led me down the darkened hallway. Varys was always a man of mystery, but seeing him in action was something else entirely.

“These our Ned’s old quarters,” he pointed out, as we walked past a heavy wooden door. “His office, if you will.”

“They don’t use it?” I asked as I tried to pry open the doors.

“Lord Baelish has his own quarters, they overlook the main marketplace. Ideal if you want to see who is coming in and out of Winterfell.”

“Not so secretive though.”

“No, but he has only one set of keys,” Varys noted. “And I am having difficulty obtaining it.”

“You wish to go inside of it?”

Varys turned another corner, and took a small set of staircases as he answered, “I would see it as a mutual advantage.”

“For me?”

“You are just as curious of his actions as I am,” Varys retorted, after he reached the staircase landing. “We can both agree his actions are too good to be true.”

“Yes, you think he was a blessed saint,” I joked.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Varys looked to the left and right before he continued his jaunt forward, ensuring there was no one around before he continued. “You have to wonder what this is all for? The way he is treating the peasants, his sudden decision to lower the taxes-”

“His inexplicable liking to Maester Tarly,” I added in. “Do you know he wants to put him on the council?”

“He’d be far better than Royce,” Varys shot back, after he tutted under his breath. “And now I hear rumours that Lord Baelish might make him a Lord.”

“A Lord of what? He has no lands in the Eyrie. They’ve all been stripped away by Lord Robin.”

“Yes, but there is a new Lord of the Vale,” Varys reminded me, his voice gentler as we approached the doors that would led to the council room. “And if Lord Baelish wishes too, he can easily make him a Lord in the North.”

“Then I should stop fooling around with his daughter,” I laughed.

“Yes. Harmless flirting is one thing, but I wouldn’t take it any further, my friend.”

A guard glared at us as we approached him, recognizing us enough to open the door so we could make our way through. “Thank you for your words of wisdom,” I quipped, as we passed through the open threshold.

“Just looking after a friend,” he said with a sly smile. “Whatever happens at this council meeting today, remember that.”

 _What does he mean by that,_ I wondered, as I took my assigned seat. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell was not present at the moment, but the sleepy form of Royce at the far end of the table was. _Why is he even here,_ I thought, and watched the way his head bobbed downwards as he tried to keep himself awake. It was rather early for a council meeting, but Lord Baelish had informed us that he would be otherwise engaged with his guests that were streaming into Winterfell. _This place will be full soon enough, and maybe then Varys and I can sneak around the castle with ease._ Varys wanted information, but I just wanted to find out what exactly was going on behind the smoke and mirrors that Lord Baelish had so cleverly placed in front of me.

The heavy door cracked open, and the lovers came into the room arm and arm with smiles only for each other. I had hoped this newlywed fever would go away, but the anticipation of a child on the way only made their open displays of public affection worse. Lady Sansa took a seat next to me, her frosty blue eyes alighted with pleasure as she stared down at me. _Who knew she was my wife_ _once,_ I pondered, _but that was in the summer and now winter is here._

Lord Baelish casted his piercing blue eyes at me as well, they were full of good humour, a thing that proved to me that his adventures outdoors with his wife yesterday was eventful. I cleared my throat with deliberation before I rapped out, “You seem in good spirits, my Lord.”

“Very,” he answered me, before he casted a quick look to his wife. She in turn reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers together. _They are inseparable,_ I noted, _a thing that could either be a good or bad thing for me._

“Is there a reason for a meeting this early?” grumbled Rocye, once the couple finally turned their attention to the man at the end of the table.

“I have invited some of the Lords for lunch,” Lord Baelish answered him. “To become better acquainted with them before the feast.”

“Ah, and who will be there?”

Lord Baelish was about to answer but his wife responded faster than him: “The Mormonts,” she shouted out. “I have them to thank for the defeat of Ramsay Bolton.”

“And me,” Lord Baelish quietly said, which made his wife stroke the outside of his hand with her thumb lovingly.

“And you,” she hushed gently, as though she was speaking to a child. Her gaze lifted back to the haggard looking man at the end of the table. “I have also invited the Glover, Cerwyn and Dustin. All great Lords of the Northern houses, and those who stood by us when we had no allies to turn too. My brother and I are indebted to them. The North Remembers.”

Lord Baelish wore a proud smile now, probably thinking he got lucky siding with the Starks in the Battle of the Bastards. _He was always a man full of luck,_ I mused, a thing that stirred some jealousy in me.

“There is a Lord Brayden Farquhar as well,” Lord Baelish announced. “He is a new Lord… knighted by the late Queen… Cersei Lannister.”

“Late?” I croaked, and half stood out of my seat once I noticed the gleeful look in the Lord of Winterfell’s eyes.

“You have not heard the news?” he loudly asked, and looked around the table in a taunting manner. “Ah, but I see another one found out! Varys, how long ago did you hear it?”

“Last night,” Varys answered him with a steady gaze.

“So did I. Whispers?”

“Whispers,” he confirmed, and I could see his hands piercing the inside fabric of his floppy sleeves. “I gather you got more than whispers, however.”

“A letter or two,” Lord Baelish said with a fiendish grin. “News travels fast I have found, even in winter.”

“But not fast enough. It must have been a fortnight since her death, and now a new leader sits on the Iron Throne.”

“So, I have heard.”

I stood out of my seat, not wanting to be in the dark anymore. “I don’t understand! What happened to my sister?"

“Murdered,” Varys answered me with a pained look. “Most likely by the hands of Euron Greyjoy.”

“Greyjoy!” I exclaimed, finding my feet were giving way far quicker than I anticipated. I fell back to my seat, avoiding the concerned looks from all those who were present.

“I am sorry, Tyrion,” Sansa said in a sweet little voice. “I sometimes forget she is your sister.”

“She wanted me dead,” I reminded her.

“She is still your sister.”

“Was,” Petyr quipped, and turned his head away once his wife casted him a look of disapproval. “The time to grieve is later,” he declared to the room. “But for now, we must decide what to do.”

Royce pushed in his chair with a sudden eagerness. “Does that mean they will no longer attack the Vale?”

“No, it will only ensure of it. From what I heard, it brings Euron Greyjoy nothing but pleasure to see men slaughtered by his hand… or others.”

“He will attack the Vale,” Sansa assented. “And he may still attack us as well.”

“Which means we must still prepare for the coming war,” Lord Baelish added. “But I have found we are gathering more allies than I anticipated.”

All of the heads turned in his direction, and Lord Baelish wore a gleeful smug as he took it all in. He waited patiently for someone to ask the question, and he was hardly surprised when his wife asked him to explain the matter. “It was addressed to you, my sweet, but I read it anyways,” he replied, before he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small letter for her to read. He waited for her to open the letter before he addressed the rest of us. “The night Cersei Lannister died there was a prison break, in which Yara Greyjoy and Ellaria Sand escaped by the hands of Ser Bronn of Blackwater and-”

“Theon!” Sansa yelled in surprise, lowering the letter down to the table. “Theon, helped them escape?”

“You look surprised, Sansa?” Her husband asked in a cunning voice, raising her hand to his lips so he could kiss the back of it.

“Theon is weak… broken…”

“A man that is broken can also be fixed,” he quipped. “He wants to wage war against his uncle, and I am more than willing to align myself to his cause.”

“He sent this letter from Duskendale,” Lady Sansa observed. “Which means he isn’t even near the Iron Islands.”

“Which means we have more time to carefully consider the matter,” replied her husband. “And to see if they can win back the Iron Islands.”

I shifted in my seat as I responded, "They are the rightful rulers of it.”

“So is Jon Snow, but I don’t see him sitting on the Iron Throne,” Lord Baelish said with a sharpness to his voice. “I won’t throw in the cards just yet, not until I’m certain.”

“They are a long way from the Iron Islands,” Varys noted. “They will have to pass through the Riverlands. Perhaps, that is to your favour.”

“My thoughts exactly! The river they must take is just North of Harrenhal. Once they reach the neck of the Bay of Crabs I will have transportation accommodated for them. The faster they get to the Iron Islands, the better!”

“Yes, but what do we do with Euron?” I questioned him, trying to cover the restentment in my voice. “What do we do with him?”

“He will ask for us to bend the knee,” Sansa responded. “And we will _decline._ ”

“Best to show our strength,” Lord Baelsih piped up. “And prove that we have no intention of backing down yet. We have support in the East with Hardyng and allies in the south where the Riverlands are. I have spoken to the leader of the Freys, Shalwin, and he is willing to align himself with us. And the last surviving Tully shows no hesitation to join our side."

“My Uncle is most eager to have his revenge,” Lady Baelish spoke out. “He will never forget what the Lannister’s have done to him.”

“But its the Greyjoys that hold the power now!” Varys shouted across the table at her. “And with all due respect, no one will follow your Uncle. Not after such a weak display of leadership when he surrendered the castle to Jamie Lannister’s.”

“We will see,” Lord Baelish said with equal gravity. “I want all of you to consider the matter. For now, Sansa and I must get ready to meet our guests. This meeting will be cut short today.”

Everyone rose from their feet, but the shock from my sister’s death was still over me. I did not hear Varys approach me from behind, but soon enough he dragged out a chair to my left and took a seat. “Lady Sansa you may leave,” he said in a soothing voice. “I’ll take care of him.”

She thanked him quietly before she went to join her husband, and soon enough it was only Varys and I left in the room.

“I had always dreamed of this day,” I laughed sadly. “Somehow, it feels worse then when I killed my father. I had always imagined it was me killing her.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” I replied as I leaned back in my chair. “How did it happen?”

“They say she was fucked to death.” I turned my head to see if he was speaking in jest, but Varys face was so severe I knew he was speaking the truth.

“You’re going to have to explain.”

“It was their wedding night, Tyrion.”

“I know my sister. If she could handle Jamie…” I brushed my hand across my face in slight embarrassment. “She can handle him.”

“It is a rumour, of course.”

“The truth?”

“The truth is harder to find, my friend, but what I do know is Cersei’s personal Maester and guard are missing. They’ve been missing since the wedding night, and no one knows where they went.”

“Euron?”

“No,” Varys answered in a deep tone of voice. “I fear he would have preferred a public execution.”

“It’s like Joffrey all over again.”

“I hope it should never come to that!”

“It might.”

“Then we should stop him before its too late.”

“We will have to deal with the Golden Company first,” I deliberated aloud. “But with Grey Worm’s Unsullied army we will have nothing to fear.”

“You are so full of hope,” Varys taunted. He placed his pale white hands against the darkened table to raise himself from the seat. “You forget of the army in the North. If Jon should fail-”

“He won’t.”

“He hasn’t sent a raven to us in weeks, and the few ravens we get from Daenerys tell us nothing about him.”

“That’s because she gets so few from him,” I retorted. “And now, we are hearing he doesn’t send any ravens at all.”

“Yes, that is concerning.”

“Daenerys will have to decide to go north and join him, or come south to help us fight the wars.”

“And with one dragon she doesn’t have a lot of options.”

“Yes, that is true.” I dropped my feet to the floor and pushed back my chair. _Lord_ _Baelish was right, now was not the time to grieve. I was never close to her anyways, not like Jamie_. “Any word from my brother?” I asked suddenly, as we walked through the open throne room.

“None.”

“Why is no one sending any ravens?”

“Your brother is with Lady Brienne of Tarth. I am sure he is well taken care of.”

“You can say that again,” I laughed, and shot my friend a devious grin as I waddled out the door.

* * *

 The hallways was full as I made my way back to my quarters, and I found myself missing the peaceful solitude that once belonged to Winterfell. My rooms were at the very end of the castle, once belonging to a certain Red Priest that everyone feared to speak of; the only thread of truth amongst the Northerns was that he was the man who brought Lord Baelish back to life. A truth that always made me wonder whether he deserved it? _Many good men died during the War of the Five Kings, but none of them were lucky enough to come back._

The laughter resounding through the hallways tried to tell me that it was, and the bustling of homely looking servants added to that. Still, time would tell whether this was all worth it. Petyr Baelish had taken on the persona of the Lord of Winterfell, but that did not mean that the mask of _Littlefinger_ was gone entirely.

The groups of men hardly noticed me as I walked past them; most of them had mistaken me for a child or a boy slave, and for once in my life I was happy with that. Fortune was not entirely on my side, however, for a man who was leaning against a wall suddenly held out his hand in front of me and stopped me in my tracks. “Tyrion?” he asked, and leaned himself off the wall to get a better glimpse. He was tall, and finely dressed in a navy blue tunic with silver pinstripes running down the front. His accent told me he was not from the north, and the young man beside him dressed in royal blue doublet without a hint of fur around the collar made me deduce they were more southern than the rest of these burly looking men. “You _are_ Tyrion, aren’t you?”

“It depends who's asking.” I was all to familiar with the Northern men’s resentment towards the Lannister’s, and the last thing I wanted was to be manhandled by a begrudging stranger.

“Someone who was your sister’s friend,” he said kindly.

“I don't believe Cersei ever had any friends.”

The man looked to around him cautiously, making sure no one else was listening before he replied, “Then perhaps, I should use a better word in future.”

 _Now, I’m interested._ My eyebrows raised instinctively, knowing this finely dressed man had a lot of information at the tip of his tongue but was hesitant to tell the tale.

“You should,” I rapped out, and shot him a shrewd look as I darted my eyes between him and the young man beside him. _The boy should be no more than twenty_ , I judged, _and considering the way he is looking at the man beside him, he is just as ignorant as I am._

“Lord Brayden Farquhar,” the man responded with an open hand for me to shake. “And this is my son, Garret, it is our first time this far north.”

“And where are you from?”

“Ohhh… a place so small and discrete you would have never heard of it.”

“You sound like Littlefinger,” I said without thinking, and was surprised to see a curious glimmer in his eyes.

“And you sound like your sister,” he drawled out, before he looked down at his open hands. “My condolences to you and your family.”

“No need,” I assured him. “They’ve saved the best for last! Only Jamie and I are left now.”

There was a tightness to Lord Farquhar’s jaw after I voiced my thoughts aloud, and try as he might, it was impossible for him to hide it. _There is more to his relationship with my sister than he lets on,_ I realized, and found myself stepping into his space more. “In my time at King’s Landings I have never met you before. You are a stranger to me, and yet, you seem to know me well enough.”

“Your sister spoke of you often,” he admitted. “Nothing good, I’m afraid.”

“Well, she does blame me for killing half the family,” I said in a sarcastic voice. “It was really only my father.”

Lord Farquhar looked at me unblinking, telling me he was quite familiar with the story already. _Who is he to Cersei,_ I wondered, _that she would confide such family secrets to_ _him_. There was movements around us, as men made their way to the open doorway where lunch would be held. Lord Farquhar stayed where he was, letting the people pass us by as he retained his steady gaze on me. It was a mystery what he saw in so long a gaze, but with some reluctance he finally opened his mouth to reveal the truth. “You look nothing like her,” he surmised.

“I have her eyes don’t you see,” I joked, and lifted my head so he could get a better look.

“Maybe, but it is not the same.”

“And have you had enough time with her to take in the particular shade?” I said in jest, but the way he shifted his weight off the wall made me second guess myself.

“They were green,” he answered me after a while. “But in certain lights they would turn a bright hazel colour. I have… always liked them.”

 _Ah, and now the truth is revealed! Cersei had some sort of romantic affair while I was gone._ I could have smiled at this man, had it not been for his son who looked so uncomfortable beside him. There was an obvious tension in the air, and the fact that we were now alone in the hallway made it worse. “She had my mother’s eyes,” I revealed to him with a slight nod of the head before we went our separate ways. Duty was calling for us both, and it was best to not put it off any longer.

* * *

 I would never describe myself as pessimistic, but I felt rather low as I studied the map of Westeros that laid across Maester Tarly’s desk. He was gracious enough to let me spend the afternoon there, and I intended to take full advantage of it with his library and detailed map of the Seven Kingdoms.

“So, Duskendale is just beyond Blackwater Bay,” I said aloud, and dragged my finger across the smooth surface as I followed the stretch of water that went upward. A faint smile crossed my face as I thought of Bronn, wondering what possessed him to sneak a sand snake and a Greyjoy out of King’s Landing. _It must be gold,_ I thought, _but I was almost certain he had enough of it by now._

“They will have to pass Dragonstone as they head north,” I commented, and tapped my finger on the small island surrounded by water. “That will bring bad memories… for all of us.”

 _It was a mistake trying to be so clever,_ I admitted. _We should have attacked King’s Landing while we were still strong._

 _What did I gain from winning Casterly Rock,_ I pondered, as my eyes flickered over to the west. _Temporary control and maybe some gold, but not enough to win the war. And with it undefended, Euron Greyjoy can easily win it back with a quarter of his army._ “I was a fool,” I admitted aloud, and leaned my elbows against the table in defeat as I stared at the small scribbles above Dragonstone.

“They could stop at Gulltown and head to Winterfell on land,” I considered, as my eyes glanced upward at the map. “But that would take them to the Eyrie,” I grudgingly said aloud, and realized my fatal error as I recalled the Golden Company was marching in that exact direction at this very moment. _If only we had an army to cut them off! Still, they say that the Vale is impregnable, but then again they have never been faced by the infamous army from Essos._ I swallowed hard at the thought of it, knowing that if one of us should fall, so would the rest of us.

There was faint footsteps coming from the inner rooms of Maester Tarly, reminding me that there was still other business to attend too. I hopped off the high chair and waddled over to his side of the room to claim his attention. “Any word from the Queen?” I asked him, while his head was still buried in papers.

“Not yet.”

“She’s been rather silent, hasn’t she?”

“I don’t know,” he answered me, after he let his gaze fall away from the ancient scrolls. “Has she?”

“I feel like something is wrong. I shouldn’t have left her alone, but she had Jon.”

“Jon,” the man echoed with a smile. “I haven’t heard from him either.”

“Do you think they’ve been attacked?”

“I’m not sure, but if they are… we’re in danger.”

“The Unsullied is on their way,” I reminded him. “And Lord Baelish has just received a case full of dragonglass mined from Dragonstone. He has men refining them into weapons as we speak, and after that the valyrian blades will be sent up north.” A small sigh escaped me as I rubbed my open hand across the scar that ran down my face. “I think we should keep them.”

“For ourselves?”

“North of here it is only frozen fields, but at least here we have a fortress, and a strong one at that.”

“Then you should tell Lord Baelish how you feel,” Maester Tarly suggested with an innocuous look.

“I will. And before I go, have you passed on Theon’s letter to Daenerys?”

“Yes.”

“And have you heard any more news about my sister? Lord Baelish didn't go into any details at the Council meeting.”

“Only that the Mountain escaped with Qyburn, and no one knows where they went. Euron has been hailed King of the Seven Kingdoms, and it is only a matter of time until we get a raven requesting us to reaffirm our allegiance to the Crown.”

“So, more blood and war,” I relayed, knowing Sansa would be the first to reject Euron’s offer.

“Blood and war. Ice and fire.” He paused, and let his eyes fall over the old scrolls again. “Speaking of fire, I sometimes wonder what happened to Queen Daenerys’ dragon.”

“Drogon?”

“Yes.”

I shrugged my shoulders at him. “Who knows? Its been months, I think, and still no word of a flying dragon from any of the Northern men.”

“Do you think he is hiding?”

“I think he is long gone,” I deliberated, and moved myself away from his desk. “And so would I… if I still had the chance. I’m going for a walk. I need some fresh air.”

“Should I leave the maps out for you?”

“Yes, and anything else you can find out about White Walkers. The more we know about our enemy, the easier it will be to kill it.”

I left the Maester’s quarters after that, taking the long hallway to the other end of Winterfell that would lead me to the main steps. The area was quiet for once, the people to tired after the long meal to engage with others further, so I had the castle all to myself. Varys was gods knows where, probably sneaking around and following Lord Baelish’s orders to find out as much information as we could about our enemies south of us.

 _The Mad King, Robert Baratheon, King Joffrey and now Littlefinger; will his whisperings ever end for this stream of rulers?_ If someone had told us years ago that Varys and I would be serving Petyr Baelish I would have laughed at them, but now we were practically at his beck and call, knowing one misstep could potentially be our last.

I was passing the Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s chambers when I felt a chilling wind behind me, I turned around to see a shadow flee from one end of the hall to the other, and quickly duck down an unseen corner. My blood ran cold by the sight of it, feeling like a ghost had passed me by. _It was_ _just my imagination,_ I contemplated, but I soon found my feet retracing the shadows steps, following it until I reached a door that was half opened. I stepped inside of it, finding the room empty and unused, and there was a girl standing in front of an open window with her back to me. _A servant,_ I thought, and was about to turn away when I felt something was amiss.

“I was wondering if you could help me,” I lied, and waited for the girl to turn around so I could see her face. She was plain and little, dark mousy hair and even darker eyes. There was something malevolent about her look, the way her hands were tightly held in front of her as she openly glared at me. She had not the look of a servant, no- there was something more dangerous in her eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said in a high-pitch voice, the kind that reminded me of a child, but the more I thought about it she seemed so much older.

“But I have not asked you yet,” I slyly replied, as I stepped into the room.

“But you already know my answer,” she rebutted with the same level of ease. She was clever, that was obvious by the way she positioned herself to sprint out the door if she needed too.

“I have the strangest feeling you are in a place you don’t belong in.”

“One can say the same about you,” she said in a quiet voice. “A lion in a wolf’s den.”

“A lion needs allies,” I countered. “The same can be said of you. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“I am no one,” she stated in a clear voice.

“Everyone has a name,” I reasoned.

“A name is a danger,” she murmured. “A name has a price.”

“A name is what makes us who we are.”

“And who we wish to be,” she countered. “And I wish to be no one.” She took long strides to the door as she muttered, “Will you excuse me,” and slipped out of the room before I could come up with a clever answer. It wasn't until she left that I realized I was standing in Arya Stark’s former room.


	53. Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

“Do you ever think this is all worth it?”

I looked up from the dagger I had in one hand, and a polished red apple in the other. “Worth it?” I echoed, and loosened my grip around the apple when she tilted her head to the side to look at me.

“Everything we’ve done.” She shrugged her shoulder lightly when she added in a deeper voice: “Everything we are still doing.”

“I know you want it as much as I,” I answered her in a raspy voice. “This picture _can_ become a reality.”

“But…” she bit down on her lip, twisting it underneath the sharp grooves of her front teeth. “There is so much at risk.”

“The act of me merely slicing this apple is a risk,” I countered, and severed the ruby apple in the palm of my hand in front of her. “One slip of the fingers….” I slackened my grip around the lead coloured dagger and hung it in front of our faces. “And they would call me littlefinger for a different reason.”

“Petyr,” she chided with a shake of the head. “This is more than just an apple. Please, put that dagger away.”

“One more moment,” I answered her, and leaned back against the comfy chair to slice the apple into quarters. “Here, take this,” I instructed, and offered the two larger slices for her to take. Sansa’s dainty fingers dabbled into the palm of my hand as she reached for the apples, before she reclined back into her seat at the other end of the table. We were enjoying these short moments alone in our chamber room, thankful that we had some sort of peace and quiet before we had to continue on with the rest of our day.

“I just think we should be satisfied with what we have,” she relayed in a quiet voice, while her eyes focused on the whiteness of the apple’s core.

“I am.”

“But you always want more.”

“I did-”

“You still do,” she argued back. “I’m worried that one day this will all catch up to you.”

“It already has,” I replied. “This scar is daily proof of it,” I added, as I pulled down the tip of my collar a little bit.

“Then give up this need for power!” she urged with a stronger grip around the two severed apples. “Winterfell is enough. Why do we need more?”

“Because we _can,_ ” I drawled with an indifferent look. “It is within our grasps, Sansa, all we need to do is reach out and take it.”

“Take, take, take,” she chided with a disgruntled look.

“Take the smallest things,” I advised her. “The things nobody else would want, and then slowly add it into our pile. The Fingers, Harrenhal, The Vale, Winterfell and…”

“And?”

“We will just have to wait and see,” I said with a sly smile. “The Seven Kingdoms is being turned to fire and ash, and I will be more than happy to pick up the pieces once its done.”

“Petyr,” she scolded, and dropped the apples down on the table.

I took this small window of opportunity of snatching it up, and then tauntingly held it in front of her face. “I think this is a perfect example,” I gibbed, before I stuff one of her apples into my mouth.

“Of how greedy you can be,” she said with resentment.

“Greedy,” I said in surprise. “Me?”

“Yes, you!”

I laughed in front of her now, turning my head away so I didn’t have to see her scolding look. She was thoroughly annoyed with me, a thing that only made me laugh harder when I heard her chair scrape back.

“Petyr,” she snapped, and only then did I turn my gaze to her. “I’m being completely serious.”

“So, was I,” I shouted out in defense. “Sansa, sweetling, where is this all coming from?”

“I hardly recognized you at lunch.”

“Oh,” I said with interest, and placed the last of the forgotten apple slices into the bowl in front of us. “And how was I?”

“Charming.”

“And?”

“Too pleasant.”

“And you disapprove of this?”

She sat down in her seat again, and pushed it closer to the table. “It's not a question of disapproval.”

“It was like a room full of Ned Stark’s,” I said grievously. “The Northerners will never like me, but they like fine wine and gold, and I have plenty of it.”

“What were you doing back there?”

I smiled at her, it was one of my genuine ones. “I was trying to win them to our side, sweetling.” I fidgeted with a bowl a little, by spinning it with the tips of my fingers gently, just enough for it to go unnoticed except for myself. “In my past life I was, as you say… greedy. Maybe I still am. I was armoured with gold, while others had swords. And I wear this armour still, but…” I glanced at her now with an intense stare. “I have found that giving it away proves more useful.”

“So, your bribing them?”

“No, sweetling, if I was bribing them it would be far more obvious. I simply want to build a better alliance with them. They are loyal to your half-brother, but I require this same level of allegiance as well.”

“You cannot buy loyalty, Petyr,” she reprimanded.

“No, you can’t,” I admitted, before I leaned back fully in my chair. “But I tell you what you can do…” the corner of my lip formed into a sinister smile. “Bring them to our side. The poor, the rich, the high and the low, only then will the North truly be ours.”

“So, that’s your game?” she asked in a tired voice.

“The short game.”

“And the long one?”

“To be rid of your brother by any means.”

“You mean murder,” she huffed.

“No, I am through with all that,” I lied. “Best to have your hands clean, remember that.”

“Then by what means?” she asked me with an inquisitive stare.

The gleaming apple seemed to be claiming more of my attention, however, for I reached forward and took the smallest of the pieces again. “He is a Targaryen. I only wish to exploit it. Make them think he is a foreigner, a person to be feared-”

“You want them to turn against him.”

“Those were my thoughts exactly,” I happily said. “And who should they turn to instead? The true born daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. The woman with the blood of the Tully’s and the Stark’s in her veins. The woman who by blood aligns the North with the South, and through marriage…”

“The West,” she cut in, finally seeing where I was heading this.

“A marriage that proved beneficial for both sides, or at least that's what we want them to think.” I crossed my legs under the table as I added, “Always keep them confused, Sansa! Never let them know your next move.”

“And that is?”

“Isolate Jon Snow entirely. The minute his relations with the North is severed, so is our ties with Daenerys.”

She tapped the tips of her nails against the wooden table irritably. “But I thought you wanted an alliance with them?”

“For now.”

“So, Varys was right?”

“Isn’t he always.”

“But not right about you getting rid of me when it's most convenient.”

“No, Sansa,” I drawled in a deep tone of voice. “I could never get rid of you, even if I tried.”

She grunted at that, and then directed her gaze away from me. Who knew what thoughts were running through her mind now, but whatever it was claimed her attention for a few minutes more. I spent this time reaching for another apple and slicing it in four pieces for her and I to share. “I want to ask you something,” she piped up. “And I just want a yes or a no.”

“Alright.”

“Is everything you are doing for the benefit of my people?”

“Yes.”

“And me?”

“Yes.”

“And our child?”

“But, of course.”

She scrunched up her mouth while she closed the lids of her eyes slightly. She was slipping into one of moods again, and I thought it best to occupy the time by watching the way her pale blue eyes fixated on the carmel coloured desk. “Petyr,” she uttered under her breath. “Are you a good man?”

“I made an oath under the Godswood, remember?”

“I do.”

“And I intend to keep it.”

“Still…” Sansa pursed her lips as she looked up at me. She twirled around her loose hair between the tips of her fingers, before she brushed it behind her shoulders.

“Haven’t all my actions proved it?” I asked her. “Have I not made Winterfell a better place?”

“You have.”

“Everywhere we go, Sansa, they stop and thank us for what we’ve done. And this is just the beginning! Imagine what it will be like in a few years time. With the right people and resources we could build a dynasty that could last the ages. Imagine it, Sansa! Winterfell as the center of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“But why must we have all of it?”

“Because we can,” I answered her. “And I think we should take it.”

She snatched the bowl off the table and held it close to her chest. “Like that?”

“No, sweetling, never so obvious as that,” I chided after I interlaced my fingers together and rested it underneath my chin. “They say that time is our enemy. I would say it is our _friend_. I’ve been thinking… when Parcelle first raised me from the dead he told me what he saw in the fires and I ignored him, but now…” I dropped my arms to the table and laid my fingers flat against the sparse wood. “I’m starting to believe him.”

“What did he say?”

“That the gods brought me back for a reason, and I think I know why….”

* * *

I was wrapping up Sansa’s present when she came out of the bathroom, her hair dripping down to her shoulders as she walked towards me. The white towel around her looked meager against her tall frame. I could have snatched it off her with one tug of the hand, but I kept my hands tightly wound to the wooden box that held my gift for her. “You’re not getting dressed for dinner?” she asked in surprise, noticing I was still in my clothes from earlier before.

“I was distracted,” I told her honestly, before I turned in my seat to have all of my attention towards her. “And we still have time.”

“We do,” she said sweetly, as she played with the front of my hair. “But you should get dressed.”

“And so should you,” I said with a smile, and grabbed a hold of her hand so I could kiss the back of it. Wordlessly, she sat down on my lap and allowed me to wrap my arms around her. _She is my treasure,_ I thought, the moment she laid her damp hair against the front of my silk surcoat.

“I love you, Petyr,” she cooed, an honest confession that escaped her without realizing it.

“I love you too, sweetling,” I sighed, and reached for her hand so I could see the emerald ring I gave to her on our wedding day. _Everything I ever need is right here in my arms._

“Could we not stay here?” she pleaded, as she nuzzled herself tighter into my chest.

“Not tonight, sweetling.”

“I only want to be near you,” she pouted.

“You are.”

“No. I am entertaining guests,” she pointed out.

“Sansa, you are the Wardeness of the North. You cannot spend your days and nights locked away in this chamber with me.”

“I could if I wanted too,” she slyly replied, and leaned her face to the left to kiss me on the lips. “Let me stay.”

“No,” I said with an arched eyebrow. She inched herself away from me, but I was quick to tug her back into place. We were always like this, wanting to be the dominant one in the relationship, until we remembered that we were equals- always. “If your a good little girl than I’ll give you a present tonight.”

“I’m not a child, Petyr,” she laughed, and loosened the towel a little so she could wrap her legs around my frame. She sat fully on my lap, giving me a daring look as her fingers curled back the tips of my hair.

“That’s one way of reminding me,” I uttered, as I watched the last of her towel fall to the floor. “Sansa Stark, do you want us to be late for dinner?”

“We can have it here.”

 _Oh, she is clever,_ I admitted, and did my best to control my facial features. “You and I both know that is a bad idea.”

“Is it?”

I huffed at her insidious schemes, and moved my face away from hers with the greatest of efforts. “Sansa.”

“Petyr,” she said in an equally cunning voice, after she let her tongue glide down her bottom lip.

 _Fuck it._ I found my lips crushing hers, smashing into it with such force that it took her by surprise. _This wasn’t_ _supposed to happen,_ my common sense pointed out, as I felt her nails gripping into my surcoat. I bit into her lip hungrily, finding pleasure in the way her fingers gripped the ends of my hair. “Sansa,” I said in a husky voice, as she moved her lips away to cover the length of my cheek, her fingers gliding along the outer edges of my jawline pleasurably. I felt the air escape me, a heightened feeling as she drew my face to hers to kiss deeply. There was a clawing of my clothes, and a breaking of the buttons attached to the front of my pants before her hands dug deep inside of them. “Quick,” she panted, and I was more than happy to oblige as I wrestled down the front of my pants. Her skin was slick, soft to the touch from her long bath and I enjoyed every second of dragging my finger across her flush skin.

“Oh, sweetling,” I groaned from the back of my throat, as she rocked herself hard on the seat to force herself in. _She couldn’t_ _even wait until we got into bed,_ I delightfully thought, liking how desperate my wife was to have me inside her. She rocked back and forth in front of me, striving for that high that only I could give. _She looks so beautiful like this,_ a sick part of me thought, as she bit down on her lips wanting more. _But she looks beautiful no matter what she does._ It wasn't enough for her, however, and that frenzied look of dissatisfaction forced me to take a hold of her and carry her back to bed. My nails buried themselves into the rubious coloured bedsheets as I fucked my wife; feeling the events of the day, the death of Cersei, the North nearly in my grasp was all coming together under Sansa's deep throated screams.

“Petyr,” she cried loud enough for the guards to hear outside. I had always loved when she said my name in bed, the sound of her voice as she panted it out in short, hot breaths.

 _I really do love her,_ I thought, as she bore her lips forward to kiss me slowly. _If only we could stay like this forever._ She steadily rolled me over, wearing a happy grin as she hovered just above my head. “Pete,” she said with delight, after her hand affectionately rubbed the side of my cheek. I smiled up at her, taken by surprise to see this open hearted gesture; the love that shined through her very eyes. 

“Sansa, your everything to me,” I admitted. “I don’t want anything but you!"

“Good,” she giggled, and brushed my hair upwards to make it into a mess.

“I mean it.”

“I know,” she sweetly said, and leaned forward to press her lips to my forehead. “But I’m happy you said it.”

“So, am I.”

“And remember that, Petyr Baelish,” she scolded, as she leaned the whole of her body against mine.

I wrapped my left arm around her solid back, taking the time to stroke the tips of my fingers against the side of her waist. “I will, Sansa. I promise you that.” I knew the second I uttered it, that I meant every word of it.

* * *

Sansa was dressed from head to toe in black when we entered the dining room; I was wearing similar colours with my silver mockingbird pin proudly placed in the center of my collar. Our arms were firmly linked to one another, leaning heavily against each other as we walked around the long table to take our seats at the front. There was a hushness in the room as every eye took us in, but I hardly noticed for I only had eyes for her. I pulled out her seat once we reached the head of the table, making sure she was tucked away neatly before I pushed the chair in. I stood over her for a moment, finally letting my eyes scan the twenty faces staring back at us with idle curiosity. “Our apologies for being late,” I bellowed across the room, before I took a seat beside my wife. Her hand was quick to cover mine, and a small smile escaped me in spite of my best efforts.

The waiters immediately took a step forward to rearrange the table settings for us, and the next thing I knew a pair of them was entering the room with a tray full of soup. The chicken broth dribbled into the bowl before clumps of potatoes and carrots followed. The largest chunks of chicken was placed into our bowls, and I saw the jealous looks from the Lords that were closest to me. _It seems that greed goes far more than just Sansa and I._

I nodded my head to the bald headed man closest to me, and was hardly surprised when he made no effort to respond. _One person at a time,_ I had to remind myself, knowing winning the favour from the Northern Lords would take more than a day or two. _They all have eyes for Sansa_ _though_ , I jealously thought, and was quick to glove her hand with my own.

Tyrion walked through the open door uninvited a few minutes later. He ignored me with an unabashed look and propped a chair off the wall to place it between the Northern Lord and I.

“Tyrion,” I grumbled loud enough for the rest of the men to hear. “For what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I think you forgot an invite,” he cunningly replied, and squinted at me with meaning.

“I did not know you were a Lord in the _North?_ ” I replied in a thin voice, as I tried to hold back my anger.

“Oh, maybe you never took the opportunity to ask,” he rapped out, and reached over for the large loaf of bread. He threw a piece into my plate, and began to reach for my bowl of soup as well when I stopped him.

“Tyrion, I’d advise you to behave yourself! What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you, Petyr,” he whispered low enough for only I to hear.

“Can’t it wait?”

“No.”

I looked away from him to see the rest of the men watching us with suspicion. _This is the last thing I need,_ I mused, before I let my eyes fall to my wife who wore a similar expression. “After,” I drawled in a tense voice, and leaned back in my chair to show I meant it.

“It concerns Arya Stark.”

I felt myself grow cold at the mention of her name, too fearful to turn and look at my wife beside me.

“Stark?” the bald headed Lord repeated to Tyrion’s right.

“Sansa,” I said in a low voice, but was too cowardly to look her in the eyes. “Come with me. You too, Tyrion."

We raised ourselves from our seats at the same time. “We will be back in a few moments,” I assured the guests, and waved to the head servant to carry on serving the meals. I purposely ignored the hush whispers that were going down the table as we made our way to the door. _They will never_ _trust a Lannister,_ I contemplated, _and our close association with Tyrion only damages our image. But he has something that concerns Arya, and based on the worried look in his eye it cannot wait._

I led them a few doors down, taking them to a secluded area where my office presided. Fishing out a heavy set of keys I inserted my long bronze key inside the lock and forced the door open. “Come in,” I said in a tense voice, and motioned Sansa to take the single seat in the room that was in front of my desk. Tyrion continued to stand in front of the door, while I propped myself atop of the desk with my nails digging into the sides of the wood. “Alright, Tyrion. Out with it!”

“There was someone in Arya’s room today, Lady Sansa.”

“A servant?” I asked, before Sansa had an opportunity to voice her thoughts aloud.

“I thought it was at first but…”

“But?”

“She was acting suspicious.”

“How so?”

“Her attitude. Her dress.”

“Like a servant?”

“No, she was dressed in plain clothing. But she did not act like someone in that class. There was a boldness to her, a-”

“What was she doing?” my wife demanded.

“Looking out the window.”

“There are many who are curious of our ways,” Sansa surmised. “Perhaps, it is nothing.”

“Perhaps.”

“You think there is something more,” Sansa related with obvious discomfort.

“She was acting like there was nothing wrong being in the room.”

I lifted up my quill pen, and ruffled my fingers through its feathers. “Maybe she did belong in there. Did she give you a name?”

“No one,” he answered me, and to my horror my quill pen snapped in two.

“Oh, Petyr,” my wife bemoaned, and took the stilted pen out of my stiff fingers. _My poor wife,_ I thought, the second I locked eyes with her. _If only she knew what I had done to her._

“She was being cheeky with me,” Tyrion grunted. “I suggest you add more security to the upper levels, especially the areas where your guests are free to roam about. I would also like to take a look at your female servants if you don’t mind, the girl had a peculiar look to her.”

“Peculiar?” Sansa asked with a perplexed look.

“Plain,” Tyrion replied. “More plain than usual.”

“The poor thing.”

“It's just the kind of face that goes unnoticed.”

I looked around the room now, wondering if the girl was with us now. _It has to be her,_ I deliberated, _but I couldn’t be certain until I saw her face to face. But it doesn't make sense! Why is she even here? What does she want? Why was she in Arya’s rooms? Unless it wasn’t the faceless woman, what if..._

“Petyr?” my wife said loudly with concern after I unaccountably brushed back the curtains to make sure no one was hiding there.

“I agree with you Tyrion,” I muttered under my breath as I did the same thing to the second set of curtains on the other side of the large window. “We must maximize our security force. I will let Royce know of the situation immediately.” I let the last of the curtain fall back in place when I added, “I will have no one in danger, especially my wife!”

“I gather this is enough to let me join you your dinner party,” Tyrion said with a satisfied smug. “I heard what is on the menu. Varys told me.”

“Of course, he did,” I spat out in ill humour.

 _If the faceless woman really is here than my life may be in danger, or Sansa’s for that matter._ I turned my head to see Sansa wearing a look of concern, and I found myself hating the way her eyebrows lowered over her frosty blue eyes. _I will_ _have to give her the present tonight,_ I resolved, and pushed my hands deep inside my pockets to retrieve my set of keys. “We should head back. We’ve been gone long enough. Tyrion, say nothing of this! Sansa, I want you to stay with me for the rest of the evening. Is that understood?”

“Yes, but what is the-”

“We should go,” I interjected, and stuck the key inside the lock. Sansa laid her hand on the top of my shoulders, forcing my body to face her.

“Petyr, are you alright?”

“I just want us to be safe,” I breathed, and lifted my free hand to cup the side of her cheek. “I want us to be happy.”

“We are happy.”

“I know,” I sadly replied.  _But I fear that is about to end._

_Sansa can never find out the truth._


	54. Blood of my Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jorah**

It was the roar of a dragon which awoken me. The foul scent that lifted in the winter winds, like a charnel house with rotting bones and charred meat. Loud howls filled the air as the Dothraki men screamed in anguish at the tops of their lungs. I threw on my winter cloak at the foot of the bed and sprinted outside the tent to see a blazing fire a few storeys high near the end of our encampment.

My heart fell at the sight of it, such pernicious flames was being fired out Rhaegal’s mouth; his blackened head with light green strokes running down his long neck was illuminated in the firelight, and unfortunately for me, it only proved that he was the cause of this chaos.

 _Now we are really done for,_ I worriedly thought, as I sprinted back into my tent to get changed. My warmest clothes were haphazardly thrown atop of my frame: my leather surcoat, armour with a large bear printed on the front, and my trusty sword that I carried with me always. I picked up a full covered helmet off the floor and tucked it under my arm just in case I ran into any real trouble. _Dany will have to recompense for this loss,_ I contemplated, as I strode out of my tent. _The Dothraki will never forgive what Rhaegal had just done._

“Khalessi!” I cried, the second I stepped into her darkened tent. It was by her orders that no one should enter her tent uninvited, but I think the current circumstances should allow it. “Khalessi,” I drawled in a loud voice, too afraid to step into her tent further. There was silence on her end, but soon I heard a nervous shuffling of sheets and the sound of feet lightly padding across the dirty floor.

“Ser Jorah?”

“Yes, Khalessi.”

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked me sharply, clearly unaware of the drama going outside. The cries of the Dothraki men were dying down now, but that did not mean the danger was far from over.

“It concerns Rhaegal, your Grace.” The tone of my voice showed my concern, it was enough for her to walk towards me in the impenetrable darkness. A great tempest blew through the opening of her tent, sending a cloud of snow around the bottoms of my feet; the faint moonlight shined through the open cracks and I saw Daenerys half dressed with her pale white feet upon the floor. “You must be cold,” I observed, and unconsciously placed my hand around her waist to guide her back to bed. “Wrap yourself in your blankets at least,” I chided, and waited for her sleepy hands to search in the darkness for her thickly furred blankets.

“Have a seat,” she instructed, and guided me downwards into her bed. I felt a rush of feelings come over me, but I suppressed them so I could focus on the task at hand.

“Khaleesi, Rhaegal has just burned the whole of the Dothraki horses.”

“Alll of them?”

“I believe so.”

She was silent on her end, a thing that showed she was just as disturbed as I was. _Things are going from bad_ to _worse_ , I mused, in the pursuing silence. “He’s hungry,” Daenerys said knowingly. “We all are.”

“We have stayed here too long,” I remonstrated. “I am surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Where are the Dothraki men now?”

“Still huddled near the fire,” I answered her. “But it is only a matter of time till they come.”

“Blood demands blood,” she mused aloud. I felt her small shoulder brush against my own. “They will ask for something in return.”

“What will they want?”

Her shoulder rested on top of mine now, the blankets transfered over to cover my frame as well. “They will want blood.”

“The only question is whose,” I deliberated aloud. “Your dragon may be in grave danger. I think we should-”

“Leave,” she cut in. “Yes, you have said so before.”

“What good is there in waiting here? We have been here well over a month, and it is only a matter of time until-”

“Jon asked me to stay,” she interrupted.

“Jon hasn’t spoken to you in weeks,” I reminded her. “Who knows what happened to him and his men? They are all probably dead and gone by now, but that doesn’t have to be _our_ fate as well.”

“My poor bear,” she breathed. “You have always been my fateful advisor, but for once I cannot take it. I must stay here until I receive word from him.”

“He has made you weak, Khalessi,” I stated in a low tone of voice. “You are the Mother of Dragons, and you should wait for no one. No matter how much you may love them.”

Her hand reached for mine, a strong grip wrapped around the back of my hand as she lowered it atop of her right thigh. “You think I am a sheep when I should be a dragon.”

“I think we have spent too much time with the people of Westeros, and forgotten who we truly are,” I answered her, as I began to inhale a waft of burned meat that was billowing in the northern winds.

“There was a hundred horses there,” she contemplated aloud. “Maybe even more. What good is a Dothraki without his horse? How will he fair in battle?”

“He would be as useless as me fighting without my sword.”

She was silent again, too silent for my liking, so when she lifted herself to her feet I quickly followed. “I must get dressed,” she informed me. “Stay outside of my tent and keep watch. I will call you back once I’m done.”

“Khaleesi,” I said with a low bow, and left her without another word. The wind was biting cold the moment I stepped outside, the winds brushed the last of my ginger curls into the air. I threw on my borrowed helmet and took a protective stance outside of her tent; my sword slacked between my gloved fingers as I kept watch. The mournful cries of the Dothraki men could still be heard, along with the roaring of Rhaegal as he took to the sky. He was hovering just high enough to keep out of harm’s way, but the fact that he had at least two charred black horses dangling from his mouth didn’t exactly help. _They will never_ _forgive him,_ I deliberated, _and we will have to pay for what Rhaegal has done._

_Drogon is still missing as well. What good is it to be a Mother of Dragons if you can’t even control them?_

The air was chilly in my lungs as I took each breath, my keen eyes scanning my left and right to see if someone was approaching. I had no friends- no allies in this valley of snow, and yet, I was the only person to stand in the Dothraki’s way. _Its been this way before_ , I remembered, knowing there was a time when I protected her and Khal Drogo as he laid on his death bed. _But there is more of_ _them this time,_ I grievously thought, as I lowered my sword slightly.

“Jorah,” Khalessi called out. I turned around to see her clothed in a snowy white cape with a hood over her head. “Come inside.”

I pushed back the sides of the tent and stalked my way into the darkened room. I felt her presence at the entrance of the tent, hearing her light footsteps upon the dirt covered floor.

“I need your advice.”

“It is yours… as always.”

“Should I go north or south?”

“South?” I asked, as I felt the moonlight illuminate the side of my face.

“To take what is rightfully mine,” she said in a firm voice. “Cersei has already sent her army to the Eyrie, it is only a matter of time till she brings more parts of Westeros under control. Winterfell needs us. Dorne. The Iron Islands. Anyone who wished to ally with us still.”

“I have always thought it was our best interest to take the Iron Throne first,” I assured her. “But the threat of the white walkers seemed more immediate.”

“I cannot be in two places at once,” she sighed over the angry yells of Dothraki men at the other end of the campsite. “And I cannot ask the Dothraki to follow me further.”

“They have followed you this far, Khaleesi,” I said in a soft tone of voice.

“Listen to them!” she exclaimed. “I have brought them out into the wilderness. This is no place for the Dothraki. In the south they would have willingly slaughtered and plundered my enemies but here…”

“There is nothing for them,” I agreed with my hands on either side of my hips. “We should send them back.”

“I should let them go,” she stated with an air of finality. “This ends now.”

There was not a moment to stop her, already she was striding out of the tent into the winter storm where her men would be waiting for her. “You're life may be in danger,” I reminded her. “They are angry-”

“As they should be!”

“Then wait till they are in a more manageable state,” I reasoned. “It would be different if the Unsullied were here, but-”

“I am aware of the danger!” she shouted into the wind. “But I cannot hide from their anger.”

 _Then you will die,_ I thought, and raised my sword to be leveled with my chest.

Daenerys stopped for a moment, taking hold of my forearm to bring my sword down to my side. “If things should go wrong,” she blurted out with a concerned look. “I want to thank you for saving me.” Her face lightened a little as she added, “For coming back.”

“No. Thank you, for saving me,” I breathed, and laid my gloved hand atop of her own. She stared at me long and hard, her face open enough for me to read it clearly. “I will always be loyal to you, Khaleesi. Protect you, serve you…”

She smiled wistfully at me, before she slipped her small hand into mine. “Even when all is gone here you stand.”

I raised my head pridefully and answered her: “Here I stand.”

* * *

"Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I asked in a low tenor as I followed Khaleesi's footsteps.

The crowd was getting larger now, one by one the Dothraki men were turning around to face us. There was nothing but anger in their eyes, and vengeance, but were they brave enough to betray their own leader? Curved blades hung loose in the palm of their hands as they stared at her. A tenseness filled the air, but still my Khaleesi held her head high in defiance.

“If you let them go, you know what will happen,” I reasoned low enough for only her to hear. “They will pillage the northern villages, rape our women-”

“I know what they will do,” she sharply replied over her shoulder.

“Then consider what you will unleash to _your_ people if you let the Dothraki go.”

“They will not follow me,” she quietly said, and turned her head over her shoulder to look at me. “Not anymore… not after this.”

I took my place beside her, leaning just over her shoulder as I whispered, “Quoy Qoyi.”

“Blood of my blood,” she repeated in Westeroian.

“They have pledged their life to you. Their blood is considered the khal’s own blood.”

“But I fell off the horse, remember?” she cut in. “The day you found me unconscious on Drogon, was the day I lost their allegiance. You know this is true." She fidgeted with her fingers, realizing that the Dothraki tribe were now paying her full attention. We were still a few feet away from them, however, as she whispered, “You are the only Bloodrider I have now.”

“Then if you will die, I will avenge you,” I murmured under my breath. “And bring you to the Vaes Dothrak to join the Dosh Khaleen.”

She turned her head in my direction once more before she uttered, “You honour me greatly.”

I bowed my head in acknowledgement, a small smile played upon my lips as I stared deeply into her eyes.

The moment was gone to soon, however, for the loud cry of Zuhair soon claimed our attention. He was the largest of the Dothraki men, and the most unruliest. He stepped towards us with his men quickly following, their hands armed with weapons that foretold the things to come.

“Khaleesi,” I warned, and took a hold of her arm to show I would protect her.

She took a step forward, leaving my arm in the air as she shouted out, “Annakhat!”

The Dothraki men froze at her command, all except one who was now charging to her with the same energy as before.

“Khaleesi told you to stop,” I warned, as I drew out my long sword and pointed in the air in front of him.

Zuhair stopped in front of us and spat at Daenerys feet. “Dothraki asta meme annakholat.”

“You wish to end this?” she questioned. “You have pledged your allegiance to me.” Her voice rose higher as she added, “You _all_ have!” She leveled her gaze at Zuhair, despite of their significant difference in size. “A dothrak does not break their allegiance to their Khal.”

“Me nem nesa.”

 _It is known,_ I thought, and raised my eyes to meet Zuhair who was now openly staring at me.

“When I asked you to come with me across the Narrow Sea it was to take back the Iron Throne.” She paused with deliberation, letting her eyes scan the rest of the Dothraki crowd behind Zuhair. “And instead we are here fighting an army of the dead.

In a loud voice Zuhair answered, “K’athjilari.”

“I recognize that I have asked for too much,” she admitted. “And now I give you leave. Anyone who wishes to follow you will not be punished, and from this day forth our bond is broken.”

“You cannot break blood,” he said in her language, though his accent was bitterly strong when he uttered it.

“Leave and when I have defeated the army of the dead and returned to this land I shall remember you. You will be given land and stallions, and a wife if that pleases you. Anha, zhey Khaleesi, atak jin.”

Zuhair looked behind his back at the rest of the men, motioning his head a little for them to step forward. Their guard was down as they approached us, but that did not mean the danger was far from over.

 _She offers them much,_ I reflected, _far more than they deserve._

“Our stallions came with us across the narrow sea,” Zuhair boomed as his long braided hair billowed in the wind. “They are gone. How will you repay us?”

“By giving you stallions that could fill the Dothraki Sea,” she replied. “I will give you this to you once I take the Iron Throne.”

“I have seen the stallions here,” he remarked with a look of disdain. “They are weak like your men.”

“The Lannister army does not represent the whole of the Westeroian men.”

“They are small and weak,” he countered. “And so will the child inside of you be.” He shook his head grievously as he dug his toe into the mound of snow. “Vezh fin saga rhaesheseres,” he mockingly said, and spat at the ground in front of her again.

 _He does not believe in the prophecy,_ I realized, _but I still believe she bears the Stallion Who Mounts the World._

“My child will lead the Dothraki and the Westeroian men,” she countered. “And he will be the Khal of your people.”

There was grumbling among the men behind Zuhair. A young man stepped forward with a clothed hood and remarked, “Does a stallion mate with a sheep? Will we be led by the men of Westeros?”

His comment seemed to rile up the people’s fury, and I noticed the tightness of their gloved hands as they held the curved blade in front of their chests. Zuhair took a step forward, raising his head with a look of malice in his eyes. “He will be no Khal,” he bellowed over the stormy wind. “If he's anything like his father.”

“Jon is a great leader,” Daenerys argued with a look of feeling. _He is_ _her weakness_ , I mused, _and the bane that will sever her relationship with the Dothraki force._

“Weak,” Zuhair mentioned with a slight grimace. “And so are you.”

“I command you to leave at this moment,” she retorted. “You are no longer a part of the Khalasar.” She took a step forward much to my dismay and spat out, “You will have no honour in your death! You’re body will not be burned-”

Zuhair wielded his silver blade in the air and laid it across Daenerys chest at lightning speed. It rested just over her left breast, piercing the thick fabric of her winter coat. “Annakhat,” I warned, and took a step forward with my blade just nuzzled underneath his chin.

“You are one man against many,” Zuhair chuckled under his breath.

“Step down,” I warned in a deep tenor. “Or I will have to kill you.”

“Zhey qoy qoyi!” Daenerys shouted in front of the towering man. “But you are not. _Leave._ "

Zuhair raised his sword slowly while his dark eyes intently stared at the small woman in front of him. He suddenly curved the sword to the right, but I stopped it second before it reached Daenerys neck. She stepped away with her hand covering the area that was just about to get hit when Zuhair turned to me, his blade flew in the air and landed on the side of my armor.

I took a step back while staring down at the metal armour that protected my chest, before I drew forward with my blade piercing towards his own. He blocked it, and used the blade to flick mine with deft speed, swinging it off to the side until my sword flew out of my gloved hand. Zuhair did not have a second to react to his victory, for I pulled my arm backwards and struck him in the face with all my might. Zuhair staggered backward, his sword leveled to his waist, enough leeway for me to swipe it away from his hand to leave him defenseless. There was loud cheering in the crowds now, and I knew we would have to fight to the death. We circled each other, wanting to keep a careful differences in case the other lunged forward.

Daenerys crept backwards, desirous to be away from the angry mob that she could no longer control. It was like seeing her years ago when she first married Khal Dorogo, when she first learned the ways of these wild men. _Such fear in her eyes,_ I thought for a second, before I heard a deep grunt escape Zuhair as he charged at me.

 _Stand your ground._ My body tensed as I got ready for impact, my muscles constricted and then released as I dogged a blow to the face. Zuhair was off balanced still when I drove my shoulder into his stomach, making him kneel into my body before I threw him on the floor. The Dothraki hissed at their leader. Zuhair staggered off the ground and went straight for my face. I blocked the first blow, but the second I didn't see coming and found my right eye close after he struck me hard there. My hand instinctively covered over the wound, the lids of my eye shut from the heavily blow. Zuhair laughed, if you could call it that, and then bent down to retrieve his iron sword that laid on the floor in front of him. My left eye darted at Khaleesi, realizing I had failed her for the last and final time.

“Jorah,” she said in fear, a second before Zuhair’s sword slashed at me. I ducked low, barely missing it before he tried to strike me again.

 _I’m unarmed,_ I fretted, and used what little strength I had to duck and dodge each blow.

The icy wind blew against my back, the chanting of the Dothraki men swirled around us, and I felt the dreadful hammering inside my chest as each second passed by. _They are thirsty for blood,_ I thought, _my blood._

 _And they shall have it,_ I thought,the moment I tripped on a rock behind me and fell backwards. “Jorah!” was screamed in the air as Zuhair gloated over me. I ignored the sword that slashed over the side of my cheek, instead my eyes were focused on the woman I loved- the woman I would now lose  _again._

They were circling over her now, hands stretched out to claim her as their own. Zuhair stepped over me to block my view, his sword still laying over my cheek in victory. “No,” he said in a heavy accent. “I want you to look at me before you die.”

And so I did.


	55. A Dagger in the Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What we don’t know is what usually gets us killed.”
> 
> \- Petyr Baelish

**Sansa**

Petyr continued to stir his spoon around the lukewarm soup. His mind still reveling on the subject matter we discussed on the way back from his personal quarters. _He is silent,_ I thought, _too silent._

I reached over to lay a hand on his shoulder, making him turn to me with his Littlefinger mask on- a shield to protect me from his gloomy thoughts. “Petyr,” I cooed softly.

“I’m fine, really.”

 _He’s lying_ . It was as clear as day that something was troubling him, but whatever it was he would not reveal to me. _Can one mysterious girl trouble him so much?_

Our guests were completely ignorant of their host's mood, and if they were aware, than they simply chose to ignore it. Wine and good food put them in good humour, and the gentle strumming of a lyre made the ambiance serene-like.

I heard the soft scrapping of a bowl, and turned my head to see Petyr had pushed his soup aside. “I’m not hungry” he revealed to me after I casted him an inquisitive stare. I reached for his hand and pulled it under the table, placing it on my lap to get him in a better mood. He left it where it was, so still you would think it was hardly there at all.

“Petyr, what is it?” I pleaded, after I leaned into his ear. “Tell me.” Sad blue eyes stared back at me for far too long for both our sakes. “What are you not telling me?”

He swallowed hard before he turned his gaze away. His eyes fell on Tyrion at the far end of the table, who was now bickering with Lady Mormont.

“I strongly believe that is Daenerys who should be our Queen,” Tyrion continued. “I cannot understand why you Northerns are so against it.”

“Because she is a Targaryen, and the North remembers what they have done to us.”

“So is Jon Snow, but I don't see you siding against him.”

I felt a tenseness on my thigh as Petyr’s hand instinctively grabbed hold of it. _He is excited_ , I thought, as I turned to see his handsome profile. The mask of Littlefinger was still on, the lines around his mouth curled showed me that Petyr was pleased as well. _He will_ _watch and learn,_ I knew, and felt I shold be doing it also.

“Jon is a Stark as well.”

“And a Targaryen,” Tyrion rebutted with his a bottle of wine in hand. He was pouring the dark purple liquid into his cup as he added, “If you can support him, you might as well support his _wife_ as well.”

 _Ah, there is the dagger in the back._ There was no more sensitive subject than Jon marrying the Dragon Queen without consolidating his people.

 _It's like Robb Stark all over again,_ I mused, before I took notice of how Petyr stared at the two combatants with a curious glimmer in his eyes.

“When we made him the King of the North we never expected him to act like this,” Lady Mormont confessed over her full plate of food.

“Aye, he bent the knee,” Lord Glover added. “To the Mad King’s daughter of all people.”

“He never informed me,” I shouted across the table, finally feeling the need to join the conversation. “If he had, I would have objected.”

“Would you?” Lady Mormont asked with suspicion. “You have sided with our enemies before?”

“Forgive me, your Ladyship, but I did what I had too, to survive. I was a child when they married me off to Tyrion.”

“I can attest to that,” my former husband conceded. “We were both forced into it against our will.”

“Which is why we never consummated the marriage,” I lied. “And gave me the grounds to marry Ramsay Bolton.” My mouth felt bitter after that, so I reached for the full glass of wine and took a long swig.

“That bastard," Lady Mormont objected. There was a sudden tenseness in the room. “But as you said, you did what you needed in order to survive. You are _strong_ , Lady Baelish.”

“Stronger than most,” Petyr piped up in a raspy voice.

“You have the beauty of Lady Catelyn,” Lord Dustin stated. ”And the wisdom and your strength of your father. My boys died in battle to fight for your brother, Robb, and for years I grieved and was resentful towards House Stark. But when I see you now, I remember what my sons fought and died for.”

“Thank you, Lord Dustin,” I said in a clear voice. “And thank you for coming to our aid in the Battle of the Bastards.” I let my eyes fall across the men and women in the room before I raised my glass, “Here’s to the strength of the North.”

“Here, here!” Lord Glover shouted, before we clanged our glasses around the table with each other.

The dinner went smoothly after that, and even Petyr seemed in better spirits. He ate the rest of the mood in silence, and even though he was quieter than usual his mind seemed to be at ease. As for myself I watched my guests with attentiveness, it was time to figure out who the real pawns and players were. Tyrion, aimable as ever, managed to engage in conversation with some Northern Lords in spite of his name and reputation. Lady Mormont was outspoken as ever, switching between defending Jon and admitting he was in the wrong for marrying the Dragon Queen. Loyalty for my brother was failing, tearing at the seams the longer the Lords and Ladies discussed the subject matter.

 _This is good,_ I thought, and I knew by the way Petyr’s hand fell over mine that he was thinking the same thing.

“I’ve been told your with child.” Lord Dustin who was closest to me was letting his warm brown eyes fall over my slender frame. “Is this true?”

“It is,” I said sweetly, and looked at my husband happily. “We both wish it could come now.”

The old grey man shook his head at me knowingly. “I am glad. We will need an heir over Winterfell, otherwise these ancient houses will be fighting to claim it as their own. Hopefully he is strong, not like your son…” he paused to let his eyes flicker over to Petyr. “Lord Robin.”

“Yes,” Petyr drawled. “I was saddened to hear the news.”

“I would have thought you would have avenged him, not side with his murderer.”

“You will find that revenge is not as sweet as it seems,” my husband quipped. For a moment the mask of Littlefinger slipped away, and there was a look of sorrow which fell across his face.

“You are right, my Lord. I should not have judged you so quickly.”

I rubbed my hand down Petyr’s shoulder soothingly. “You were speaking the opinions of everyone else,” I assured him. “But we did what we thought was best.”

The old Lord scratched his thin moppy curls, the only shred of hair he had left on his balding head. “But, of course. I can only hope the two of you are in the right.”

* * *

I took one last look out into the darkling plain before I closed the drapes. A storm was threatening to fall from the feverish night sky; I thought it best to remain ignorant of this fact. As for my room it was dark and warm; a roaring fire cracked within the hearth, the tongues licking outward at a frantic pace. There was a peaceful hushness in my room, even the winter winds were tamed in this enclosed structure. I rubbed my hand over my stomach again, still trying to come to terms that there was another being inside of me. I smoothed down my night dress again, anxious for Petyr to return so I could be near him once more.

 _It is getting late,_ I mused, and noted how silent the castle seemed to get at this late hour. If it was any other night I would have went looking for him, but the sterness in his voice as he warned me to stay in our quarters put me at bay.

I curled my loose tresses around my fingers, marveling at the glimmering auburn shade in the fire light. It contrasted well with my pale white dress, the looseness of it allowed me to take it off with ease. _If only Petyr was here to do it,_ I thought, and went over to the bathroom to take another peak at the looking glass. My skin looked pale under the candle light, soft blue eyes stared back at me, focussing on the small bump in my center. Fear, hope, anxiousness all quenched up inside of me, and I wished Petyr was here to push it down. _How dependent I am of_ _him_ , I realized, _and wondered when this began._

I heard a key pierce through the lock and ran out to greet him. “Petyr,” I mouthed in front of the bathroom doorway, startled to see how blanch his face was. He looked nervous, timid even as his watery eyes fell on me. He stood in front of the doorway, immovable even when I approached him with anxious steps. “Petyr, what is it?” I entreated, and laid both hands on his arm that was closest to me.

He licked the bottom of his lip before he gulped heavily. “Sansa, my sweet, get me a drink, will you?” His eyes fell down to the floor as he resentfully said, “A strong one.”

I left him to see what we had in the room. There was a cabinent full of old wine, a wedding present that Petyr and I haven't been able to enjoy until now. I grabbed the largest one and went searching for glasses when I noticed how silent the main room was; retracing my steps I peaked around the corner and saw something that nearly made the wine bottle slip out of  my hand.

“Petyr!” I gasped, and stepped into the room. “Where did you-”

“Sansa,” Petyr said with a pained expression.

“That’s-”

“Have a seat, Sansa,” he interrupted, and gripped the all to familiar object in his hand tighter.

“How did you…” I shook my head in despair. “Petyr!” I screamed in madness and strode towards him in blind fury. “Tell me what's going on?”

“Sansa, please if you love me, have a _seat_.”

I pulled out a chair closest to me and sat down on the table where we normally ate our meals. Petyr took slow, painful steps as he rounded the table, but quickly changed his mind and pulled a chair out to position it beside mine. A small gap was between us, and only when he connected our chairs together that he placed his Valyrian dagger on the table in front of us.

“That's Arya’s,” I spat out.

“It was.”

“What are you doing with it?”

“I was going to hide it.”

“Why?” I asked, after I pushed the sharp weapon away from me. The very image of it reminded me of what I had done, the things I did for _honours_ sake.

“Because I didn't want you to know the truth,” he confided in a low tone of voice while his eyes strayed away from me.

“And what is the truth?” Petyr said nothing, he merely puckered his lips to the side and then lowered his gaze further. “Okay,” I meekly said, and rested my hand over his forearm. “How did you manage to get the dagger back? I know Arya left with it, so you unless she’s back-”

“She isn't,” he hushed. Tender blue eyes locked onto mine, a fragile smile nearly broke across his face as he tried to comfort me. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“So, she _is_ dead.”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because…” He took hold of the silver sheened blade and raised it to the firelight to show all its splendor. “The person who killed her gave me this.”

“You’re lying.”

“No,” he drawled in a low voice as he half shook his head.

“I don't understand. Why did they…” I narrowed my eyes at him, sensing he wasn't telling me the whole truth. “Why would they give it to _you?_ ”

Petyr sighed, a sound that was so harsh to my ears that I stared up at him. He shook his head painfully, a world of hurt could be seen through his foggy blue eyes. “Because…”

A silence followed, and he let out another low sigh before he pushed his back against the chair. “You’re involved in this somehow, aren't you _?_ ”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Did you kill her?”

“No.”

“But you had someone do it, didn't you?”

He turned his head away, scratching his nails into the wooden surface of the light coloured desk. I felt cold inside, an icy tundra came over me the longer I took in his nervous expression. _He did._

“Sansa,” he explained, after I removed my hand from his forearm. “This was before I even met you. I was still in the Vale when I gave the order-”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“I was angry.”

“And that is enough justification to _kill_ my sister.”

“No,” he said through the corner of his mouth. “But I was a different man than I am now.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I do.”

“I don't even know what to say…”

“Sansa, I am so sorry. Truly, I am.”

“You had this secret all along and didn't think to tell me.”

“I hardly think you would marry me if you found out the truth, sweetling.” Petyr pursed his lips as he locked eyes with me. “I am sorry.”

“You keep saying that!”

“But I mean it. I do.”

“Why! Why is it always lies with you? Everytime I think I can trust you-”

“You can!”

“You murdered my sister,” I argued back. “Did you send someone to murder my brother too? Or me?”

“No, sweetling.”

“Just Arya,” I said with disbelief.

“ _O_ _nly_ her.”

I raised myself from my seat, needing to seperate myself from him for a while. The room felt unbearably hot, the flickering flames only aggravated me further. “I can have you killed, you know.”

“I know.”

“I don't know what to do with you anymore.”

Petyr stayed where he was, his hands twisting around the starry blue hilt that glimmered in the light. “I hired a faceless woman,” he unexpectedly said. “She wore your sister’s face. No one will know.”

“You had this all planned out, didn't you?”

Petyr dropped the dagger to the table and raised himself from the chair to be leveled with me. “I wanted revenge, Sansa,” he reasoned and clasped his hands together as he laid it just beneath his chest. “When I came back from the dead there was nothing I wanted more than to see you and your family suffer. But I’m not like that now.” He strode towards me with slow, cautious steps. “You have changed all that.”

“Stay where you are,” I warned, not wanting him any closer than necessary. “And the only thing I changed is your agenda. Who else is this faceless person supposed to kill?”

“No one else,” he answered me with an honest look. “The only reason she is here is to give me back my dagger. Proof that Arya Stark is in fact dead.”

“Proof,” I echoed with a look of resentment. “It is only proof of the crimes you committed against my family.”

“So, we must go through this again?” he asked with a darkness in his eyes. “At least I know it's coming this time.”

“Don't,” I warned. “Those mind games won't work on me.”

“I’d say the same to you,” he replied as he interlaced his fingers together. “If I go down, you will quickly follow.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Petyr puckered his lips, the lines around his face tightened as he glared at me. “It depends,” he voice aloud. “On what you intend to do with me.”

“I- I…” My mind felt muddled, spilling over with anguish and despair. _He betrayed me. He lied to me, and now he’s basically blackmailing me if I reveal the truth!_ _Who is this man I married? How did I allow him to be a father of my_   _child?_ I lowered my hand over my stomach as I felt my eyes spill over with tears. _Don't lose it,_ I told myself, but I felt my legs weakening the more I considered what Petyr had done.

“Sansa,” he fretfully said and opened his arms wide for me to come into him. I leaned into his chest, letting his deft hands smooth down the tightness in my back. “I’m sorry. I got scared. I shouldn't have threatened you like that.”

I buried my head into his neck, and only then did I wail out with tears over the death of my sister and the man whose arms were wrapped around me now. He whispered reassuring words to me, lies that were full of love that barely reached my ears. _He thinks we can move past this,_ I realized. _If he thinks we could start over again he is wrong, so very, very wrong._

“Say something, sweetling,” he pleaded. “Tell me what you're thinking.”

“I want you to leave.”

He moved back with purpose, drawing his hands over my shoulder to steady me with his weight. “And go where?”

“Far away from here! The Fingers, the Vale, Harrenhal, anywhere but here.”

“You’re sending me away?”

“Either that or I’ll kill you myself.”

His eyes glanced me over with disbelief. “You cannot mean that?”

“I do,” I said in a low tone, before I brushed his hands away from me. “I want you to be out of Winterfell by tomorrow.”

“Sansa,” he said with desperation. “I know this is a lot for you to comprehend but-”

“I gave you an order Lord Baelish,” I interjected. “And I expect it to be carried out.”

He knelt down on his knees, his hands laid over my waist as he placed his face against my stomach. “Sansa, _please_ ,” he croaked. “Think of our child!”

“I am! And I can only hope he is nothing like you.”

“We can work this out,” he reasoned. “All is not lost, Sansa, you know that as well as I.”

“I’ve heard enough.” I took a step back and left him to grovel on the floor for all I cared. “Gather your stuff. You’re sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

Petyr staggered to his feet. He watched me walk to the end of the room where I was currently fluffing up my pillow for bed. I would not sleep tonight, but he didn't have to know that.

“I know I can never make it up to you,” he commented in a soothing voice. “But I tried each and every day.”

“I want you to be silent. Another word and I’ll have the guards escort you out.”

He stayed where he was, his fingers tightly interlace together as he considered what to do next. Not wanting to take anymore chances he grabbed anything he might need for the night and piled it on the dining room table. He was reaching over for his dagger when I stopped him. “Leave it!” I ordered. “It's the only proof I have that you killed her.”

His fingers tensed over before he closed it into a fist. His arms eventually dropped to his sides, and only then did he level his gaze to me. “You will use it against me.”

“Think of it as insurance. See, I’m not the only one who can play the game.”

“I never doubted you for a moment,” he confessed with sad looking eyes. “I always thought we were a dangerous pair.”

“Too dangerous,” I agreed. “Which is why it must end.” He let out another low sigh, blinking at me through dewy blue eyes. _He looks like he's about to cry,_ I realized, and a part of my heart shattered in two. “Why?” I asked him with a wild shake of the head. “Why must you be such a monster?”

“I’m not,” he replied in a flat tone of voice. “You just want me to be.”

“Just go!” I shrieked and moved my hand to shoo him away.

“I don't want to go. I want to stay here. By your side.” He shrugged his shoulders soberly as he added, “I love you, Sansa.”

“And I love you,” I confided. “But that is the last time I will ever say it.”

“No,” he breathed. “I want to hear you say it every morning and every night. When we are both old and grey. When are children are strong and rule the land like we have always _dreamed_ of. Say it to me again, Sansa, tell me that you love me.”

I wrung my hands together, letting stifled breaths escape my pursed lips. _He’s tearing me apart._

“Sansa! Sweetling, I love you so much,” he breathed as he took small steps towards me. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Lies,” I moaned, and walked backwards to keep a careful distance from me.

His eyebrows lowered low over his eyes as he uttered, “Truths.” He outstretched his arms as he muttered, “Come here.”

“I can never trust you,” I sputtered as I wiped my hands across my wet cheeks.

He bent his knees slightly, stretching out his arms as though I was a child. “Trust me.”

I watched him approach me, sensing the moment I placed his hand in his own it would be the end; the battle would be won for Petyr. _What about me? Will I ever learn from my mistakes?_ I dropped my arms close to my side and took a step back. “Leave me, Petyr. My mind is still unchanged. You are leaving tomorrow.”

“We can still fix this,” he continued, as though he did not hear a word I just said. “We can still talk about it.”

“There is nothing to say.”

“Please,” he begged, and abruptly closed the gap between us to lay both of his hands on the sides of my arms. He kissed me desperately, like a man starved to death. His right hand laid across the back of my head, while the other on the side of my neck to hold me in. He was leaning his body on me heavily, steering me towards the bed post until we both crashed into it. “Let me stay,” he sighed into the side of my cheek. His lips drew itself across my face, brushing his neatly trimmed goatee across it for my own pleasure. I found my fingers tightening around his neck, clinging to him for dear life as he kissed me harder.

 _I can't do this,_ I thought, but Petyr’s heated breath and the way he drawled out my name in his thick Fingerish brogue made me second guess everything.

“Why did it have to be you?” I moaned into his chest. “Why did you have to kill her?”

“Because I was lost,” he murmured. “And angry, and bitter, and you know what kind of man I can become when I have nothing to lose.”

“But she was my _sister!_ "

“I know, love,” he drawled as he sat down on the corner of the bed. “If I could do anything to undo what I did-”

“So you said in Molestown,” I sneered.

“And I gave you an army to defeat Ramsay Bolton.” He smiled slightly as he added, “And the means to take Winterfell.”

“I’ve went through hell because of you!”

“I know.” Petyr placed his hands over the top of his lap as he answered, “And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn't good enough.”

His voice was low and raspy as he replied, “It isn't.”

To both of our surprise I took a seat next to him and laid my hand over his own. “I am _beyond_ angry with you.”

“I am aware of that fact.”

“If our guests weren't here I’d have you sleep in the stables.”

He chuckled low under his breath as his gaze fixated on our joined hands. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Good.”

He let his hand slip away from mine and sauntered over to the table to gather his things. _I can't believe I’m doing this,_ I thought, as I watched him spread out his blankets near the dying hearth. _I given him one to many chances._ Petyr knew I was watching him but chose to ignore my lingering stares anyways. _He’s probably just happy I let him stay in our room._

I cleared my throat to get his attention before I rapped out, “We will talk about this in the morning.”

“We will,” he soberly agreed. “Then, goodnight Sansa.”

I grunted at him with indignation before I pulled the covers over my head and pretended to sleep.


	56. The Big Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

My mind was ticking like a clock, thinking of a thousand ways to get out of this mess.

 _I should have lied,_ I thought. A blast of cold air came from underneath the door and blew in front of my face. I squinted slightly, before I rolled over and tightened the blankets around my shivering frame. The floor was cold. There was a winter storm outside, you could hearing the hail smacking the glass window, delirious to come into our chamber room.

I knew Sansa wasn't sleeping, she was just as silent as I. _That is never a good thing,_ I mused, fearing the decision she would come to in the morning.

_I was so close! I almost had it all: The Fingers, The Vale, Winterfell, and the entire Seven Kingdoms if I had my way. And I would have succeeded if I hadn't been caught._

I curled my legs closer to my chest, trying to retain as much warmth as I could. _She would have found out eventually_ , I knew, _they always do._ Still, the last time that happened Sansa ordered her sister to slit my throat. My fingers tightened into a ball, a shot of anger came over me, but before I could do anything irrational I heard a soft knock on the door.

Sansa sat up in her bed with full alertness. I lifted my head to spot her shadowy frame, before I turned my attention to the door. _Who could that be,_ I worried, and shedded off the blankets to find out for myself.

 _The game is far from over,_ I reminded myself, and only then opened the door a crack.

“My sincerest apologies,” a smooth voice said from the other side of the door. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“Varys?”

“Yes, the disguise didn't help,” he consider aloud, before he pulled down his hood.

“What are you doing here?”

“I bring news. May I come in?”

I pulled the door backwards, letting him pass over our threshold to enter our inner chambers. Sansa was standing in front of the bed with a freshly lit candle. Her pale white dress made her look like a ghost, had it not been for the coppery shade in her auburn hair. The candle light illuminated our room partially, but it was enough to see my makeshift bed on the floor.

“Lovers quarrel,” Varys teased as he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“We had a disagreement,” I sighed.

“A very bad one, I’m sure.” He interlaced his fingers together and went around to Sansa, whispering something in her ear that made her take a long look at me.

“What is it?”

She went over to me, and before I had time to react she smacked me hard across the cheek. I groaned inwardly, rubbing my hand across the hot flesh that ached from the harshness of her touch. “Sansa?” I said in barely a breath, feeling my blue eyes sadden the longer I looked at her.

“You sent the worst of our men to the Vale,” she stated with knowledge that was not her own.

“I gave Harrold what he asked for.”

“Who’s side are you on?” she shrilled with frustration.

“Yours,” I assured her. “And my own.”

“You tell me nothing but lies over and over again.”

“This time its the truth.”

“Is it?” she asked with disgust. “Because so far you’ve proven you have done nothing unless it serves your self! You gave the weakest part of our military to Harrold and because of it the Vale has fallen.”

I pursed my lips, forcing my face to go neutral to not show how I truly felt.

“It is true,” Varys said in a calming voice. “Cersei’s army defeated them, and now they are coming here.”

“Will be ready for them,” I assured them both. “I have a plan.”

“You and your goddamn plan,” Sansa groaned with her palm half covering her face. “What have your plans ever given you?”

“Power.” I took a step forward so I could fully face her. “Knowledge. Loyalty. Alliance's.”

“False ones,” she shot back. “After tonight I could never trust you again. I was right in wanting to send you away.”

Varys teetered on his toes with excitement, this was obviously too good to be true.

I had no choice but to lay one hand over the other, centering it over my stomach as I her gave her the look of Littlefinger. I shrewdly darted my eyes between the two of them before I utterted, “You forget the bigger picture, my love. When the Vale falls who will hold the power?”

“Cersei.”

“Cersei is dead.”

Varys raised his hand in answer. “Euron Greyjoy will hold power there.”

“Euron has no more interest in it than Winterfell. That is _our_ advantage. We know what he wants, the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. But…” I stretched out my hands before me for emphasise. “We know how important it is. Its history, its alliances with our people. They say ‘The North Never Forgets,’ believe me when I say it won't.”

Sansa sighed, truly lost in my ambiguous speech. “So, what is it you are trying to say.”

“Lord Robin held power.” A strange smile unknowingly crept across my face. “Harrold Hardyng held power.” I took a step into the last of her space, tilting my head upward as I proclaimed, “And now, I do.”

There was a pause as they tried to put two and two together. “But of course,” Varys breathed with a shake of the head. “How can I forget you are still Lord and Protector of the Vale.”

“They never did remove my title,” I slyly replied. “My _friendship_ with Hardyng was always temporary. In exchange for our alliance he agreed that I should keep the title. In his own hubris, that young boy thought he was invincible and would never die. So is most who play the game.”

“Including you,” Varys sneered from the corner of his mouth. “That is until you had a short and untimely death.”

“A valuable lesson, I assure you.”

“So now you control the East and the North.” I offered him a false smile, it looked most deadly when my eyes were so lifeless as they were now. “You planned this all out, didn't you?”

“I hope to control the West as well, or at least have a strong alliance with Theon Greyjoy and his sister. My scouts have informed me they have had a safe journey so far. A rather difficult thing with the Golden Company rampaging across the countryside. I only wish I had asked for the Dothraki as well.” I paused to stroke the bottom of my chin, rubbing the side of my finger along the prickly hairs. “The Unsullied will be easier to control. I would like to hear their tatical approach to defending Winterfell too.”

“It doesn't bother you?” Sansa interrupted with a faltering voice. “What happened to the people there.”

“The same ones who were more than willing to throw you or I through the moon door? No, Sansa, I feel no remorse.”

“You’re cold.”

“I’m wise,” I rebutted. I laid a hand on her shoulder and felt her tense at the sudden touch. “And experienced… far more than you.”

“And an idiot,” she shot back. “I can never forget what you've done.”

 _She means Arya_ , I realized, and let my hand slip away from her.

“I know I can never make it up to you, but I’ll try.”

“Its not good enough. It will _never_ be good enough!"

“I offer you the world in the palm of my hand will you take it?” I exclaimed. “Would you take it for our child?”

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed together, her gaze cast down on the floor with attentiveness. I reached for her hand closest to me and flattened her fingers so I could see the palm of her hand. “Take it, Sansa, if not for me than for yourself. I offer you the world… all of Westeros.” I leaned next to her ear before I whispered, “Take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are interested, you can follow me on instagram @petyrbaaaeeelish or tumblr with the same username.
> 
> I am also having a live chat on Saturday, September 7 at 11:00 AM (Eastern time). Feel free to ask me anything and if you can't make it don't hesistate to message me on social media. Thank you for all of your support so far!
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish


	57. A Friend of a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Theon**

My bones felt stiff as I raised myself from the floor. It was bitterly cold, and the more we traveled northwards, the more we felt it seeping into our bones. I threw my blankets to the floor and staggered around our campsite till I came up against a cluster of pine trees gently blowing in the easterly winds. I snapped the buttons to my pants and looked around before I took a leisurely piss.

 _Its so fucking cold,_ I thought to myself, as I shoved my cock back into my breeches. The air was still, a few flakes of snow fell from the sky but nothing of concern. _There’s not a shred of water anywhere,_ I noted, and felt being on land for so long was swallowing my spirit. _Or what’s left of it._

“Winter is here,” I whispered to myself, as I reached into my coat pocket to pull out a half shredded grey hat. I tore it off a frozen corpse on our travels, a thing that left Yara laughing for days. _I do what I have too, to survive._

We heard such tales on our travels, enough to last me a lifetime. There was news of the Golden Company marching north of us for a good part of our journey, and then whispers around the marketplace fell upon deaf ears of them ambushing the Vale. _How could they do it,_ I wondered at first, but I remembered the warning Anson gave me the first time they set eyes on Westeros: "They’ll be a force to reckon with." _The only question is, will Daenerys' army even stands a chance?_

There was creaking off in the distance, but I recognized Anson’s familiar tread across the snow crusted forest floor to put me at ease. _He’s always up before dawn,_ I remembered, and went forward to greet him.

“About time you wake up?” he shouted out from a distance with a large deer hanging over his shoulders. “Wonder if I should even give you something to eat.”

“Thank you, Anson,” I replied, as I approached him with empty hands. “I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“That’s what happens when the two of you live princely lives,” he jibbed. “You don’t know how to survive out here. Well…” the deer slid off his shoulders and fell to the floor with blood spilling across the pale white snow. The neck was cleanly severed, and an arrow wound could be seen at its side. “Now its time to learn.”

“We do not sow,” I answered him in a clear voice. “Or hunt, or farm, or-”

“Yes, I know what you iron born people are like!” he cut in. “All murders and thieves from the stories I’ve been told.”

“Then, why are you helping us?”

“Because I like you,” he answered me in truth. “And I want to help you reclaim the throne.”

“Yara’s throne,” I pointed out as I rubbed my scraggly beard.

“Yara is injured and weak, while you look as strong as a boar. There’s no way you’re telling me you are giving up your inheritance to your sister.”

“I am.”

“Fool,” he jeered and plucked the nape of the deer before he dragged it back to our campsite. “An outright fool.”

“They’ll never follow me,” I answered him. “They know who I am.”

“The son of a king from what you told me.”

“A coward,” I sneered. “A boy who knows nothing of what it means to pay the iron price.”

“I see a man before me,” he said over his right shoulder, before he threw the deer down next to the empty fire pit. “And one who is too hard on himself! If you want to defeat your uncle then you’ll have to smarten up, cause no man will want to follow you… or your sister for that matter.”

I looked down at my feet to see Yara swaddled in a heap of blankets, still lost in our own calming sleep at the break of dawn. _Westeros is used to women ruling,_ I reminded myself, _there is Cersei, Sansa and Daenerys…_

  _But my men are iron born,_ I deliberated, _they will not be so quick to bend the knee to Yara._

“Come help me gather some wood,” Anson stilted voice said close beside me. “I’ve done enough work for today.”

I nodded my head and followed him out of our campsite to search for dry wood; it was a rather difficult venture considering how often snowfall came to these regions. The rivers were nearly impassible, so we made most of our journey on foot now. We stayed on the main roads, though we kept to ourselves. No one ever seemed to bother us, and my northern accent seemed to buy me many friends. They were suspicious of Anson’s foreign accent, however, and Yara’s harsh tongue seemed to make matters worse. _How things have changed,_ I thought, _for the responsibility to lead had now fallen on my shoulders. No wonder Anson wants me to be King._

“You’re not looking hard enough!” Anson yelled out from a distance, already his arm was covered with long branches.

“I was…” I closed my mouth, and decided it was best to keep my wandering thoughts to myself. A small sigh escaped me as I looked between the opening of the trees, seeing a golden hallow descend upon the rest of the snow-white forest, a small chipmunk darting past a hedge _. It was peaceful here,_ I noted, and could see why the Starks always preferred winter. _Where are they now,_ I wondered, _where is Arya and Bran? How is Sansa doing back at Winterfell? Do the memories of Ramsay plague her thoughts as well?_ _Does the memory of him steal her sleep at night?_ I shivered suddenly, but not from the cold, and closed my fist tightly to stop the trembling. It’s still there… I can feel it, like an unseen spider crawling across my skin.

 _Reek,_ I heard at the back of my mind in a menacing voice, which made me tremble further. _Reeekkkk…_

“You keep standing there you won’t have anything to bite on, but your frozen fingers!” Anson threatened in between a small gap of branches. “Pick up a damn branch, son.”

His harsh tone was enough to snap me out of the moment and force myself to bend over to look for some dry logs. It took me twenty minutes to gather enough branches to satisfy Anson’s taste, and even longer to get a fire going. He sat there with an apple he bought at a local market a few days back, not in a good enough mood to share a portion of it with me.

“When will your sister wake up,” he hushed softly, so he wouldn’t stir her from sleep.

“When she’s ready,” I answered him in a curt tone of voice. “She is still injured. Let her be.”

“Aye, I’m not the one helping her walk about,” he laughed. “I’ve heard stories about the Mountain. He could have done a lot worse.”

“He did enough damage,” I said grudgingly, still trying to blot out the memory of the stretch of bruises across my sister’s neck and chest the night I examined her on the boat. “I just wish it wasn’t her knees.”

“As long as we keep moving its fine.” He spit out a seed and threw the shrivelled core of the apple into the stack of wood in front of us. “You said a friend is going to help us.”

“More like a friend of a friend,” I teased. “Sansa has asked Lord Baelish to help us.”

“And?”

“He will,” I assured him, before a small spark of fire ignited at the bottom of the firepit. “Finally!”

“Warmth,” cooed Anson, and stretched out his feet even though it was barely a fire. “Time to chill these grey old bones.”

“From what I gathered from the villagers we are not to far from the meeting place,” I said out of the blue. “Harroway’s Town is where Lord Baelish’s men will meet us.”

“And then what?” Anson asked with his gloved hands waiting in the air. “Can we trust him?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know much about him, but I trust Sansa. I saved her life… she wouldn’t betray me.”

“Hmmm,” he mumbled into his sleeve as he wiped at his mouth. “What’s the worst that can happen? They’ll kill us, but its rather unlikely.”

“They take us back to Euron,” I grievously suggested. “I bet there is a bounty on my sister’s head.”

“And yours, if he ever found out what you did.”

“He probably thinks I’m dead,” I assured him. “I’m safe… for now.” The fire rose higher, licking the dry branches to make it wither and burn against the heat. Anson handed me the deer with a curious grin and instructed me on the best way to wield my knife to carve out the fresh chunks of meat. _He’s like a father to me,_ I realized, _far more than my own._

He had the look of my father: small, grey with the same dark beady eyes; Anson’s hair was short though, balding in the middle with a hat frequently used to cover it. _He is kinder,_ I took note, _and far more patient than I deserve._

“What’s so special about Harroway’s Town?” he asked out of nowhere.

“Its in the Riverlands, so they are a natural ally to the Starks. And that will make us their friends,” I told him. “Its located just north of Harrenhal-”

“Harrenhal!” he exclaimed with a look of terror.

“Which currently belongs to Lord Baelish, another advantage for us. Its no where near the Vale or wherever the Golden Company are heading to now, and…” I paused to pull down my winter cap over my ears to block out the cold. “Its along a river! A thing my sister will be grateful for.”

“But we still can’t take a bloody boat out on it,” Anson reminded me. “Damn snow.”

“We can follow River Road,” I told him, it leads along the Red Fork and that will inevitably take us to the Iron Islands. I only wish we could find a faster way of getting there.”

“Maybe _your_ Lord Baelish will help us,” he proposed with a smile. “Now enough chatting! I need you to concentrate on the task at hand,” he argued, and pointed at the limp looking deer that laid across my knees. “Cut it.”

* * *

It took us another three days to get to Harroway’s Town; a humble town that sat along the Trident river. It was untouched by the War of the Five Kings, so small it went nearly indistinguishable to those greedy lords. Lord Baelish knew of it, however, and I was surprised to see how prosperous this small town was. For one thing the grain shortages did not seem to affect them, and for another they seemed impartial to their current King. _Neutral,_ I thought, as I strode down the cobbled streets that was nearly eclipsed by the shadow of a stone roundtower. Down the hill you could see where a hundred fishing boats were docked, all covered in a thick layer of snow that told me of the days to come. The river was frozen too, but not enough for us to walk across it cleanly. Some villagers leaded over the edge of the shore with fishing rods in hand, but I was almost certain they would catch no fish today.

Yara hobbled beside me, leaning heavily on my left shoulder as we made our way uphill some more. We were like scavenges, inspecting the area first, before it was safe to go inside of it. Anson was silent beside me, teetering on his toes with expectation the more we saw this illusive area.

There were barely any trees here, unless you looked to the far left where the town ended; a long dirt path stretched into the center of it, which told me it was the only way of the city. _River Road_ , I realized, and found my eyes lingered there more than anywhere else.

“I think its safe enough,” Yara loudly said, and shook my shoulders to gain my full attention. “We should go.”

“Its safe?”

“There is only way to find out,” she barked out with a sneer. “You scared?”

“No, just cautious.”

“Fuck caution!” She shook her head annoyedly and pointed to the town down below. “You said Lord Baelish’s men would be stationed at some inn.”

“A lodging of some sort,” I answered her. “The letter was brief.”

“Let’s go!” she urged and let go of my shoulder to stagger forward.

 _Where does she get this bravery from,_ I wondered, and felt I would look stupid if I didn’t follow her.

The streets were bustling by the time we entered the city streets, a hoard of carriages passed us by with loads of cargo stacked on top. I noticed a lot of them crossed over bridges, and it wasn’t until I overheard a crowd of people complaining about the frequent floods that I understood the town’s issues. There was shops too, enough to make my stomach quell and ache for some fresh bread and meat, but Yara seemed determined to reach _The Golden Trident_ , a little din that was said to be in the center of town.

The people on the street payed us no mind, seeing there was a lot of travelers flowing through the city. It was a sea town like any other, with lots of traders and artisans passing on through. Anson took the lead, while I continued to support Yara as she hobbled down the hill. We both wanted the safety of a bed and a warm fire, and that was enough to keep our forlorn thoughts to ourselves.

“It’s a good thing father sent you away,” Yara unexpectedly said. “Or we wouldn’t be able to have this help.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and your Northern friends,” she taunted. “The _Starks._ ”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Cause I don’t understand the way of the Northerns, or the Southerns for that matter. I only know our way! The iron born way.”

“Sometimes it isn’t always best,” I mused aloud. “To stick with one’s own.”

“It’s the only way.”

“Then you only find one set of friends,” I answered Yara with a sensible air about me. “And I have found we need as much help as we can get.”

Anson stopped in front of the wooden lodging with a yellow painted banner across the top and a golden trident sticking off to the side of the building. The building looked rundown, but I was not turned off by the sight. “Is this it?” Yara asked me with a unimpressed look. “You said Lord Baelish is rich?”

“He is,” I laughed. “I didn’t say he owned it.”

“What a dump,” she snickered, and pushed me away from her so she could pound her fist into the door. Anson was about to position himself in front to protect her, but it was too late a sword already poked out of the doorway and barred its pointy end right at her face.

“What the fuck do you want?” said a scrawny looking man with short dirty-blond hair chopped badly at the sides.

“What the fuck do you want?” Yara shot back. “Putting that greasy old sword at me?”

Anson laughed beside her, but I continued to wear the same grave, brooding look as before with my dagger tightly clutched behind my back.

“What do you want?” the man asked again, but his voice was softer this time.

“We were sent here,” Yara told him with a shrug of the shoulders. “By Lord Baelish?”

“Lord Baelish?” he repeated, as if he had never heard the words before.

I cleared my throat and yelled out, “Littlefinger!”

“Ah,” the man said with a lopsided grin. “Come inside then,” he muttered, and lowered his sword to the side.

Yara coughed into her gloved hand before she barked back, “I still think that’s an ugly thing! Best get yourself a new sword if you want to intimidate me.”

The man grunted and motioned for a few strangers standing along the wall to come forward. They were the same height as him, and equally thin, and it wasn’t until they stepped into the candlelight that I thought they were brothers. They eyed us suspiciously, before the smallest one in the group of five spoke up, “Which one of you is Theon?”

“I am,” I replied with a raised hand. I pushed myself forward and ignored Yara’s hand around my arm urging me to stay back. “Who’s asking?”

“Denton.” His soft blue eyes scanned me from top to bottom with curiosity, as he maintained that perfectly held poker face. I thought it was unusual to see him so bald, while the rest of his comrades wore the same matted blonde haired look. Denton seemed shrewd to me, and unpredictable, which kept me on my toes. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hope its not bad timing,” I joked, though it received no laughter from either side.

“Its better late than never,” the man said with a stern voice that lent authority. “Will get some rooms set up for you, and a horse and carriage to take you on your journey home. Will lend you a guide as well, if you need it. But it will cost you a fee for his troubles.”

“Will think about it.”

“I’m the inn keeper, so if you need anything you know who to ask.” He looked to the left and right of him with crossed arms and uttered, “This here is my brothers and cousins. This is a family business, so you respect us all or none.” He pointed his thumb behind him with a jester to the right. “This here is Lesley and Taylor, my two cousins.” He turned his body to the left and piped up, “Daniel and Dominic.”

“Your parents liked the letter D,” Anson joked, which earned him warning looks.

“My parents were very religious,” Denton stated matter of factly.  “They worshiped the Seven.”

“We worship the Drowned God!" Yara spoke up. "For what is dead may never die.”

“All things die, my dear,” Denton replied with an expressionless face. “Even you.”

“Is that a threat?” I exclaimed as I took a large step forward and felt the circle of men surrounding me.

“It’s a reminder,” Denton remarked, and waved his hand backwards to send his family away. “You will eat, and then I shall tell you all that has occurred in the last few weeks. I am sure your long travels have kept you rather isolated.” He was about to turn around when he remembered something, “And there is a letter for you, Theon, from the Lady of Winterfell herself.” He motioned us to follow him up the flight of stairs, with a silent flick of the wrist.

* * *

I felt better after a long bath and fresh change of clothes. Yara and Anson were still busy in their rooms, so I left them to head downstairs in the hopes of filling my belly as well. The downstairs level was dark and empty, only a scuttling of mice could be heard in the far corner of the room as I walked across the maple coloured floor. I whistled an unknown tune as I went over to a high chair that was connected to a bar, a line of hard liquor was seen on the other side. The silence stretched on longer, and in my discomfort, I whistled a strange little melody that kept up my spirits. An inner door crashed somewhere on this level, and heavy leather boots clashed across the hardwood floor until a secret door was open in the corner of the room. “Down already?” Denton asked with surprise and wiped his hands with a white cloth as though he was working on something.

“I’m hungry,” I answered him honestly as I watched him swivel open a small wooden barricade and step into the bar area. “A little thirsty too.”

“I’m sure you are,” he quipped with slightly lowered eyebrows, after he threw the towel down on the table beside him. “I’ve got one of my cousins working on some soup for you.”

“How much will it cost?”

“Its covered,” he said with a short nod of the head. “Littlefinger payed for everything already.”

“That was nice of him.”

“Business is business,” he chuckled. “There is nothing nice about it.”

“Still… I hardly know the man.”

“You know his wife, and that’s all that matters.” He handed me an empty glass and poured some light amber coloured liquor into the glass. “Things would look brighter for me if I knew her as well.”

“How do you know Littlefinger?”

“Same line of business,” he explained. “We both like ships. He just happens to have more than me.”

 _And more money too,_ I took note, as I forced myself to swallow down the fiery substance.

“The White’s,” he piped up. “That’s us! We own this lodging and a few boats down below. Mostly cargo ships to carry things over to the Eyrie, but business has stopped for obvious reasons.” He lifted a glass for himself, seeing the need to swallow down the bitterness of his thoughts. “I guess you can call me a trader, or an investor, whichever you prefer. Things haven’t been good since the War of the Five Kings, and then the flooding that happened during it that nearly wiped out the whole town. I got lucky, this place is a little higher up than most of than most, but I got a family of mice living in the lower levels because of it.”

“I saw one already,” I admitted. Denton chuckled over his half-filled glass before he chugged the whole of it in one breath. “They are not upstairs, are they?”

“Nah, though they like to get on the roof sometimes.” He placed the glass down with a loud exhale and wiped away his mouth with glee. “So, you’re Euron’s nephew?”

“Yes, he’s my uncle,” I grudgingly replied.

“He’s a King,” he pointed out. “And a bad one at that. Geez, I thought Cersei was bad but…”

“What do you mean?”

“He has no skills in politics or leading for that matter. At least Robert Baratheon had his council run things, but Euron has a shit show.”

“He’s pissing on the Iron Throne,” I laughed into the palm of my hand.

“And an army dangerous enough to destroy the Vale.” Denton neatly stacked our cups together as he added, “And now they are heading to Winterfell. May the Sevens be with them.”

“They believe in the old gods,” I countered. “And they’ll need it.”

_If I managed to attack Winterfell, how much easier will it be for the Golden Company?_

“So, what are you planning to do once you reclaim the Iron Islands?”

“If?”

“Okay, if?” he said with a mocking tone of voice.

“Join forces with Dorne and the Starks to defeat my Uncle.”

“And what if the Starks are defeated, before you can carry out your plans?”

 _Then, I’m done for,_ I mused, and looked down at the empty table in front of me.

The staircase creaked behind me, and I turned to see Yara heavily leaning on the bannister, so she wouldn’t fall face first. I quickly got up and ran towards her, to help her down the rest of the staircase. “I’m fine,” she argued back, as I wrapped my arm around her waist to pull her in.

“You’ll thank me one day,” I teased, and helped her take the last few steps till she reached the bottom floor. We were being watched by Denton for some unknown reason, and he was quick to pour a glass for Yara once she took a seat.

“You’re not the kind of girl I see everyday,” he unexpectedly said.

“What kind do you see everyday?” my sister asked curiously, as she tapped her cup to demand more.

“Docile, sweet, matronly-”

“Controlled!” She butted in with narrowed eyes. “We are not like that on the Iron Islands.”

“No,” he cooed with a mysterious look. “I imagine not.”

“You will find with my sister,” I interjected, even though I was not wanted in this conversation. “There is more that meets the eye.”

“The same can be said of you, Greyjoy!”

“Aye, that is true.”

“I expected you to look like a Lordling, but you’re just the same as everybody else.”

It was Yara who spoke up for me as she argued, “We do not want our leaders to look like handsome princes! We want strength and resilience, for them to be as harsh and bleak as our shores. They should be fearless as our gods, and to take things willingly with our enemies blood on their hands! That is our way, and that is why we have a golden kraken on our black banners, because we belong to the sea and will die in it, if we have too.” Yara puffed out a fit of air after this, clearly enraged by Denton’s unwanted slander.

“With a speech like that…” Denton relayed as he stealthily took up her glass. “You'll have no trouble winning back your people's favour.”

"Easier said than done," I relayed in a sad little voice. I cleared my voice in a vain attempt to gain some control before I added, "But we will try."


	58. The Viper's Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Bronn**

“Before the Seven Kingdoms, before the Iron throne, there was _Dorne._ Twelve thousand years ago, our ancestors crossed the land bridge from Essos and settled here. For centuries, the Dornish men squabbled over land, water and wives. It is said that a warrior princess from Essos, Nymeria, led a fleet of 10, 000 ships to Dorne. She was not welcome, but there was one who saw a potential alliance with her, and that was a _Martell._ ” Ellaria swirled her wine glass around, slow enough to remind me of a creeping snake- a viper. She took a long sip while her eyes remained on me, she lowered it once she was finished it and got off her luxurious couch to walk over to my side of the room. “Do you know why the name of Nymeria lives on to this day?” she asked in her smooth, almost sensuous Dornish accent. “Because it was a woman that broke the back of men. A woman who…” she sat down on the couch beside me and stretched out her legs to barely reach my thigh. “Joined forces with Mors Martell to defeat their enemies and bind them in chains. And even when her husband fell in battle, she took command of their army and led them into battle- she succeeded.”

“And why are you telling me all this?” I asked, as I leaned my head back into the plush pillows.

“Because, to understand the present you must learn our history.”

“Right?” I noted, while scratching just underneath my chin where I needed to shave. “Good to know.”

“I am no Martell, but I have lived with one long enough to know their ways,” she explained. “They have ruled Dorne for a thousand years, having either a prince or a princess rule this nation. Unlike the rest of Westeros, you do not need a cock to lead our people.”

I whole heartedly laughed at that, settling into the couch further until my body nearly morphed into it. “But it would help,” I pointed out.

“You will find that Dorne is stronger when it was ruled by a _woman._ For years we have suffered over Doran Martell’s rule, a man without a spine, so quick to bend the knee to the Lannister’s. He chose to forget what they had done to us. The treachery of those lion’s when they ordered Clegane to rape and murder Oberyn’s sister, to _kill_ her children. And Doran turned a blind eye, choosing to sleep with a lion, but he forgets…” Her eyes alighted with fury as she stared up at me. “What we really are… vipers, snakes, creatures the slither through the sand to bite our enemy when they least expect it.” She clutched her wine glass begrudgingly, making the tips of her fingers to go white. “Do you know what I said to Doran? I told him his son, Trystane, was weak like him.”

She slinked off the couch and elegantly strode towards a center table to refill her glass. Her back was still towards me when she muttered, “And weak men will never rule Dorne again.”

“Then who will?” I asked her, as I watched her fill an empty glass next to her.

Ellaria lifted the glasses in front of her chest, striding towards me with her hips swinging in a seductive manner. “I will.”

“But you’re not a Martell.”

“I am not,” she agreed with me. “But I was a paramour to Prince Oberyn. He could not legally marry me because I was beneath him. A bastard has no place by his side, but I was his wife in every other way. I bore him a child, a beautiful woman… and she died by the hands of a Lannister. I swear on my daughter’s life I will have my revenge.” She closed the lids of her eyes now, her hand trembling as she held the wine glasses in front of her. I raised myself from the couch slowly and stood in front of her, feeling I should comfort her, but I didn’t even know where to begin. “I will lead an army north and attack King’s Landing,” she suddenly said, as she opened her eyes. “I will tear Euron’s dead body from the Throne and find Qyburn and Clegane. I will take Oberyn’s spear and thrust it in their chest until there is nothing left but a gaping hole in the center of them.”

“Have you seen how big he is?” I questioned her. “You’ll need more than a spear.”

“Oh, I plan on it,” she slyly replied, before she thrust the glass in front of me. “Drink,” she urged me, and clanged her glass against mine before she took a long swig of it. I took a mouthful, and found it was too citrusy for my liking. _I will have to get used to this lifestyle,_ I reminded myself, _seeing me draped in bright purple robes only added to that fact._ “You will help me?”

“With what?”

“Have my revenge.”

“Do I have a choice?” I joked, though I meant every word of it.

“If you stay in Dorne it will be abandoned by my people. You will be laughed at and considered less than a man if you stay. If you come, then you will find a woman worthy of you, who will want a warrior as a husband after Dorne defeats her enemies.”

“So, I don’t have a choice.”

“Choose what you will, but I choose to take up my spear.” She dropped her half empty glass on the table and strode out the room. I quickly left my glass next to hers and walked after Ellaria. She pushed back a heavy set of plum coloured drapes, and made her way out of the room, extending her legs as she strode across the brightly coloured mosaic tiles; it was as blue as the distant sea that could be seen along the coast of Sunspear, a square pattern that was intricate, as it was fashionable for the times. I felt at odds with the surrounding, feeling the heat clinging to my skin even when I was wearing a light set of robes. _I’d sooner pull this off and walk around naked,_ I thought _,_ but my knighthood was the only thing that was stopping me from doing so.

“Have you chosen?” she asked over her shoulder, as she picked up the pace.

“Aye, I thought I didn’t have a choice,” I teased, and extended my legs just to keep up with her.

“If we win you will be rewarded with more than just a palace.”

“I like my palace.”

“Contentment is honourable,” she concurred. “But if there is an opportunity to have more, I would take it.”

“So, what are you saying?” I asked her, after I sprinted enough to get to her side.

“Lord Baelish, the Lord of Winterfell has agreed to my terms. He will join us in our fight.”

“I thought you said men were weak.”

“Dornish men are weak, but the men of Westeros prove to be stronger.”

“But you said I can have more?” I reminded her. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I may have hinted of your involvement in our escape, and the only way to convince you was to offer you a castle.”

“So, your saying-”

“He will give you one, if you fight with me.”

“A fucking castle?”

“Yes, it will be up north,” she noted with a sheepish look. “But I have heard that the castles there are larger and sturdier, than the ones near King’s Landing.”

“Done!”

“What?” Ellaria asked, and slowed down her pace to get a better look at me. “Just like that you are willing to join us?”

“A palace _and_ a castle! You do realize I’m a sellsword that came from nothing, and now I’m an anointed knight with a palace in Dorne. And now, you’re telling me I can have a fucking castle in the North?” I began to laugh in front of her face, with my hands bent over to rest on my knees. “Who the fuck do I have to kill to get this?”

“The Mountain.”

“That will be difficult,” I quipped, as I raised myself to my normal level. I rubbed my thumb along the hilt of my sword, wishing it was threatening enough to strike the giant down. _I’ll need more than a sword._

“What is difficult is taking our army to the Capital. We have not had to face the snow, but the minute we leave Dorne…”

“It will be everywhere,” I finished for her. “These fancy robes won’t be enough.”

“No, but I will bear it all knowing that my enemies will soon be dead.”

“I still don’t get it,” I said after a silence lapsed between us. “Why would they follow you? A bastard.”

“I can never take the title of Princess of Dorne,” she told me, before she stopped walking and positioned herself in front of me. “But with all of the Martell’s deceased there is no one else. Most of Oberyn’s children are dead, his brother and nephew are dead, and the few surviving bastard daughter's he has are either missing or ill-fitted to rule Dorne." She raised her head up proudly as she uttered, "There is just me.”

“So, you’re the only one that can rule.”

“If they choose to follow me, then yes.”

“And will they?”

“Blood runs hot amongst our people. The crimes of the Lannister’s are still ripe in our memories. Prince Doran and his son were killed for their inaction, and though some may disagree with the vileness of my revenge, I could not stand there and watch Trystane crawl into the Lannister’s bed… not after Oberyn.”

Ellaria slender hands fidgeted nervously, letting her loose, rounded collar fall to her elbows to expose the harsh scars and bruises left by her enemies. “They’ll take one look at you and follow you,” I told her truthfully.

“No- not for my looks,” she argued back. “But for my _strength._ ”

 


	59. Darin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who have managed to stick around to chapter fifty-nine! I know the previous two chapters weren't ideal, but sometimes I have steer away from Petyr and Sansa's perspectives, so that you as the reader can see naturally occurring events outside of Winterfell. On that note, we are back at Winterfell and you get to read "The Devil's Treachery" from Petyr's perspective, and what a perspective it is...
> 
> Enjoy the climb,
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish

**Petyr**

There were so many risks, so many opportunities for Sansa to take, but what did she do- she sent me away.

I offered her the world in the palm of her hand, but the ladder had no more enticement for her. She wanted revenge, to crush me like a spider with the heel of her foot. She’s no different from the rest of them, no matter, I learned my lesson. _The climb is all there is…_

* * *

 In all my years I had never seen hail fall down so fast from the sky, shattering against the brick walls and stained glass windows as I followed the large man in front of me. I pulled the borrowed scarf closer to my chest, wanting to retain as much warmth as I could. It was cold, so much that I felt my ears were being pierced by the frigid air until it went numb. I slipped on a thin sheet of ice, but quickly retained my balance, pleased that at least something was going my way tonight.

 _I have to tread lightly_ , I told myself, and remembered Sansa had warned me about that not so very long ago.

 _If only I had listened._ It was too late for regrets, some kind of remorse wouldn’t make Sansa change her mind.

 _Exile_ , those were the kind of words that escaped her lips. She wanted me to be as far away from her as possible. Not even our child could convince her otherwise. Sansa was always stubborn, but not even the wickedness of my tongue could alter her decision.

 _I’m a condemned man,_ I thought, and Varys has the pleasure of watching it from start to finish.

“Stay quiet and keep to yourself, and you should be fine,” he said over his shoulder as he led me down the open courtyard of Winterfell. “Sansa was kind enough to give you a dagger, but don’t go of your way to use it."

“You think I’ll get attacked?”

“I think you’ll get mixed up in the wrong crowd.” He slowed down his pace, so I could walk beside him to continue the conversation. “How does it feel to be stripped of your mockingbird?” he asked, after he pointed his gloved finger where the silver pin used to be.

“Worse than wearing these lent clothes,” I answered him, and pulled the collar over my half frozen face as I scanned the area for shelter.

“You want to look like a peasant,” he assured me. “Walking around in your normal fine attire would get you at the bottom of a swamp or something.” He looked around the enclosed shelters, that were set up near the stables, it was a poor area of Winterfell, a home for an abundance of peasants that were still seeking refugee behind our walls.

“You wish to scare me?” I asked my old friend, who blended in seamlessly with his surroundings.

“I’m trying to give you an air of caution. You’ve been surrounded by the rich and powerful for so long you forget what its like to be poor.”

“My entire childhood was like that,” I told him honestly. “Those are things you _never_ forget.”

“You climbed far, my friend, but now its time to see what its like to live at the bottom.” He stopped in his tracks, and pointed to the open area where a group of homeless men and women were sleeping under a shanty roof that barely covered them from the storm. “This is as far as I will go.”

“You’re leaving me?"

“I might see you in the morning.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Sansa said nothing about sleeping.”

I looked around the area sadly, taking in the poverty stricken area with despair. “Take me back, Varys,” I half pleaded. “Let me try to talk to her again.”

“Be happy you’re not behind bars!” he quipped. “People will talk, but less people will find out the truth this way. Believe me, Petyr, its better this way.”

“To live in the slums?”

“To go into hiding while Sansa blows off some steam.”

I kicked my boot into the snow angrily, feeling everything was so unfair at the moment. “We were supposed to have the feast tomorrow night. What is she going to tell them if I’m gone? I had a plan and now she is ruining everything! For fuck’s sakes, Varys, what has she done?”

“What have you done?” he slyly asked. “She never did say.”

“If I told you…” I took a step into his space. “I’d have to _kill_ you.”

“With your dagger, no doubt.”

“Its the wrong one,” I murmured, as I rubbed my glove hand around the lent dagger Varys had given me in his chamber room.

“I remember you were quite fond of a certain one. You claimed Lord Tyrion won it off you in a bet. Those were the days, eh, when Catelyn Tully was still alive.”

I breathed deeply in front of him, casting a cloud of condensed air into the swirling wind.

“You always had a weakness for them. Perhaps, that is your weakness- the only thing that could ever stop you was red Tully coloured hair.”

“You better leave before I kill you,” I drawled in so thin a voice, he took a cautious step backwards.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Petyr. Try not to get yourself killed,” he mockingly replied, before he turned away and left for the warmth of Winterfell castle.

I _’ll remember this,_ I swore, before I turned myself around to see the number of peasants shivering by a snuffed out fire. I stalked my way over, looking for a spot to at least sit until morning. There was nowhere to be found, and I didn’t like the way one man gave me a half maniacal look as I walked past his feet. He gruffly said something to me, but it was so unintelligible I kept walking on. I bent forward as I went into a wooden shaft, creaking the door open slightly to find it was full of people across the wooden floor. _Where did all these people come from,_ I wondered, _had I not sent most of the peasants away to the neighbouring Northern houses?_

 _Maybe not enough,_ I deliberated, hating the fact that these were all working class people. _What conditions have we left them in?_

I shut the door, and went about the wooden shaft to find another spot to rest. Everywhere was crowded, so filled with people that it smelt of reeking body odour and piss. I hated it, perhaps, more than I hated walking down the streets of King’s Landing. _What kind of Lord am I, if I can’t even take care of my own people?_

I leaned against the back of the wooden shed, and fell to the floor to stretch out my feet in front of me, ignoring the harsh sensation of hail beating down on my frozen legs. _I wish I was curled up with Sansa,_ I reluctantly thought, _I wish I could bury my head into her chest and feel her warmth._

A sound off in the distance claimed my attention, and I saw a young man coming out of a nearby forest with his hands deep in his pockets and his back bent forward in a vain attempt to evade the piercing ice blocks of hail. He staggered towards me unknowingly, not seeing me when I was covered in black from head to toe; the man covered his face as he walked backwards and it wasn’t until he found shelter under the same roof that he dropped his hand down to his side.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I spoke up, disguising my accent with the typical northern dialect I had often heard from the peasants working about the castle.

“The hail?” he remarked, after he noticed my crippling figure leaning against the wall. “That’s the north for you.”

“Its winter.”

“Aye, winter,” he agreed, and moved forward so he could take a seat beside me. “I was hoping for some better shelter inside the forest. There’s nothing.”

“You thought the trees would shelter you?”

“I was hoping against hope,” he admitted. “But to be honest I should head back and make sure me mother’s is fine.” He brushed a clump of snow off his shoulder, letting it fall in the small space between us. “I’m the only thing she has left.”

“Then you should be with her,” I told him, speaking from experience that he was unaware of. “Take care of her while you still can.”

“You have a mother?”

“She died a long time ago,” I told him in truth. “When I was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I had me dad,” I said in an accent that mimicked his own. “That’s more than some.”

“I never knew my father. He left when I was young.”

“A child needs their father,” I said for myself, more than him. _And that’s why I have_ _to find some way for Sansa to forgive me._

“I did well without him,” the young man bitterly said beside me.

“I’m sure you did.”

“Come with me,” he suggested. “I’ll let you stay at my place for the night.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t have to worry about a fee or anything. These are hard times we are living in.”

“It is,” I answered him, before I raised myself off the floor. His steps were quick and with purpose as he zipped through the tightly enclosed shelters, showing me the short cuts that evaded some of the mentally deranged peasants staggering about the snow. It was dangerous here, and I could see why none of my guards wanted to stay out here after dark.

There was something like a tent up ahead, and the way he slowed down his pace told me it belonged to him. _Can it even fit three people in there,_ I wondered, and thought it was best to back out now.

“Looking for a job?” he asked loudly, after he unintentionally bumped into me.

“Depends, are you offering one?”

“Looking for one. We just arrived here about a few weeks ago, our landlord let us go. We worked on the farms you see, and I was good at what I did…” He rubbed his gloved hand over his mouth before he added, “But I always wanted _more_.”

“Like what?”

“I’m good with money,” he told me. “I used to look at my master’s books when he wasn’t aware, I always interested in business… investments.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“What would a man like him, want with a man like _me?_ ” He kicked the snow up grudgingly. “I’m from the slums, some out of the way town, it's enough that he took me and mother on to work the land. I should have been grateful.”

“But you weren’t?”

“I wanted to take care of his books,” he replied grievously. “I wanted to help him with his farm. His own son was useless, why I would have been more help to him.”

“And did you tell him that?”

“No, I had no right to say such thing. Best to keep my head down and get on with it.”

“I used to think that way,” I relayed, after I positioned myself in front of him. “I was like you once, small and insignificant because I didn’t have a family name, and you know what I learned? Fuck them, every last one until they topple to the ground because in the end it's only you that matters.”

“Then why are you here?’

“Because I fell.” I raised my hand to hover over his chest as I added, “But even the gods can find a way to rise back up.”

“And you think you are some god?”

“I’m only human, same as you.” I shrugged my shoulder slightly as I mused aloud, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand aside and let them dictate my life.”

“You sound like the men at camp. They used to talk of a revolution, and then Lord Baelish came and made their lives better, or so they say. Now there is talks of some building- construction I think a few miles away. Many of me friends are signing up to do it, they say they get warm meals and a proper shelter place. I’d do it, but I can’t leave my mother.”

“Then what do you do now?” I asked, as he started to walk towards his tent again.

“I help old Larry out at the market. Trying to sell some of his food, it's not ideal but its something.”

“Maybe you can own your own market one day?”

“No, I want more than that.” He raised up the flap of the tent and motioned me to go inside. I had to crawl on my hands and knees to go in, and found it so dark I was almost fearful to move. I felt his presence behind me, the sharp rub of his shoulder as he positioned himself just beside me. “You can lie down face first or on your back, but that’s as far as ye can go.”

“This is it?”

“This is it.”

_I’ll never complain if Sansa tells me to sleep on the floor again._

“Try and be quiet,” he asked of me. “My mother’s a heavy sleeper, but still…”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I trust you,” he honestly replied. “And I thought if I can help you out, than maybe you can help me.”

“What do you want?” I drawled out, as I heard him lie down on the floor.

“I want a way out, and maybe- maybe you can help me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Cause I know a northern accent when I hear one, and its not that.” I froze suddenly, tensing up so hard you think I was still outside. A silence fell over us, and I heard him shuffling across the floor suspiciously. “Will you help me?”

“If I can find a way out of this hell hole, then yes,” I answered him in my familiar brogue.

“I know you will. You’re smart.” He let out a low sigh, as if the cold was finally getting to him. “And I’m smart too. Maybe we can help each other.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I drawled, before I laid down beside him and tried to go to sleep.

* * *

I was stirring a fire when Varys approached me, I was surprised he even noticed me when I wore a scruffy black cap borrowed from the young man beside me. Varys chuckled loud enough to get the attention of the people nearby, but fortunately for him he was dressed like the rest of the peasants around him.

“He’s your friend,” the boy asked, as he rose to his feet to intimidate the man. “Or you want me to get rid of him?”

Varys tutted under his breath, and took a seat on the opposite side of the meager fire. “Have you found a body guard already?”

“Let him be, Varys,” I warned with a tenseness in my voice. “What is Sansa’s decision?”

“The Lady of Winterfell?”

“Who else?”

“She requests your presence?”

“Where?”

“Why does it matter?”

Because if its the throne room I might as well slit my throat now.”

“Have you done something that bad?” he teased, though the way his eyebrows lowered showed he truly was curious.

“Where?”

“Her chambers.”

“Our chambers,” I corrected. “He’s coming with me.”

“The peasant?”

The boy dug his foot into the ground as he pointed his gloved finger at his chest. “The peasant has a _name!”_

“And what is your name, my boy?”

“Darin.”

“Then you may come with us, Darin,” Varys teased, before he lifted himself off the floor and motioned us to follow him.

Fortunately, Varys let us take a bath in his chamber room and gave us a fresh set of clothes. I found it odd sitting across from the boy that was wearing the same clothing as me: dressed in a fine velvet doublet of charcoal black with golden trimmings down the front of his shirt. His hair was the same as mine, a dark chestnut brown that was long and wavy that fell down the back of his neck. Darin’s olive coloured complexion went well with his light brown eyes, that told me he was at least of mixed descent. He ate in silence, eagerly stuffing his mouth, hardly believing the amount of food in front of him.

“Take your time,” I urged, not wanting him to choke over our first meal together. “There’s lots more to come.”

“More?”

“If you wish.”

“You barely ate anything.”

I tapped the side of my plate nervously as I noted, “I lost my appetite.”

“That man, Varys, he said your a Lord.”

‘I am.”

“A rich one?”

“Very.”

“How did you get so rich?”

“Connections.” I sat up straighter on the chair as I sighed, “The right alliances, and stealing a heart of a Lord’s daughter helped.”

“I wish I was you.”

“No, you don’t,” I assured him, before I pushed my plate away from me. “I’ll take up your offer earlier, and make you my bookkeeper. I have a history in accounting… I was sort of a treasurer once.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I can teach you anything you want.” _If Sansa lets me stay, that is._

The boy dropped his muffin down on the plate before he darted his eyes upward. “Thank you, Lord…”

“Baelish,” I interjected. “But you can call me _Petyr_.”

“Then, thank you, Petyr,” he mumbled, before he dug his hands into his plate again to fill his mouth.

 _The boy is young and strong,_ I noted, _and smart- he will make a name for himself with my help._

I wasn’t entirely sure why I was helping him, perhaps, it was my way to make amends. To undo the mistakes that I had done, but then again, it has made me the man that I am today.

I rose from my seat and threw my napkin aside as I asked, “Are you coming with me?”

“Where are you going?”

“To meet the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Are we really?” Darin asked with excitement, quite forgetting the food in front of him as he rose from his seat as well.

“We really are! Now, wipe the crumbs from your mouth. I want you to look presentable.” He did it quickly, before he followed me out the room like a happy puppy. “Walk with your back straight,” I told him. “If you want to succeed in this world, you best act like one.”

“You said you came from nothing?” he asked, as he tilted his head in my direction.

“From the Fingers to be exact.” The boy noticed the way men bowed low to me as I passed them by, and now was starting to wonder who I truly was.

“Why are we meeting the Lady of Winterfell?” he asked in a squeaky voice, betraying his nerves that were finally coming over him.

“Because I have to make a formal apology to my _wife_.”

His feet froze in place, which made me look over my shoulder to see he was no longer by my side.

“I can’t be late! Are you coming, or not?”

“Wife.”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re the Lord of Winterfell?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m to be your bookkeeper?”

“In charge of my finances, then yes.”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth in disbelief, before he started to walk towards me. “I made you sleep in my tent.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged. “And I’m thankful for it.”

“Did she kick you out?”

I cleared my throat with deliberation while I eyed him with scrutiny. “Are you coming, or not, Darin?”

“I’m coming!” He sped up suddenly, and was soon ahead of me even though he had no idea where we were going. I pulled on his arm after a while, and led him down a quiet hallway that belonged to Sansa and I, for the entire stretch was our private quarters.

There was guards in front of the door, and when they asked to inspect us for weapons I nearly lost my tongue. I let them grapple me sullenly, and made a note of their name and faces so I could dismiss them once I was in power again.

“Forgive my wife if she is rude,” I said to the young man beside me, whose face was red when the man was searching his pockets.

“They're empty,” he said after a while, and pushed the man away to show he was quite done.

 _They know he isn’t one of us,_ I noticed, and took a hold of Darin arm before I pushed him through the doors first.

“Sansa!” I yelled out angrily, and pulled down my doublet with frustration when I didn’t see her in the room at first. “Sansa!”

She walked out of the bathroom doors still dressed in her nightgown when she coldly replied, “Petyr.”

“I’m sorry again,” I stated in a slightly agitated voice. “I know I should have told you the truth, but I knew you would leave me if I did.”

“So, you hid it from me.”

“I thought it was better for the both of us.”

“For _you,_ you mean.” She finally noticed the man standing off to the side of the room, dressed in my own apparel, which frightened her for a moment. “Who is this?”

“Darin, my Lady,” he said with a low bow.

“Why are you in my husband’s clothing?”

“Because,” I drawled, as I took a step forward to gain her attention. “He was the only one who took care of me when you sent me out.”

“Did you pay him?”

“You sent me out there without a penny to my name,” I reminded her.

“So, I suppose it was the kindness of his heart.”

Darin stepped forward with his hand in the air. “It was in fact.” He glanced at the two of us timidly, before he added, “I didn’t know who he was. I swear by the Seven.”

“I never cared for the Seven,” she coldly replied. “What have the Seven ever done for me when I was at King’s Landing?”

No one was able to answer that question, so she wrapped her house coat tighter around her form and went over to the raging fire where she jabbed it with an iron rod for a few moments.

“Sansa, what are you going to do with me?” I finally asked. “Are you really going to send me away?”

“You always liked to say you were the Lord of Harrenhal.”

“I always liked to be the Lord of many things.”

She placed the iron rod back in place, and moved away from the fire. “We have a feast tonight, and I need you to be present for it. We can’t have our support lost, because of your absence. I want the North under my control, just as much as you.”

“And then what? Wait, until the Lords and Ladies of the North are gone and then send me away too.”

“I considered it,” she admitted. “But then there’s the question of the Golden Company.”

“What about it?”

“If they catch you they may batter for gold, or worse kill you. And I don’t think I could live with that.”

“Then why send me away?”

“Because you’re dangerous!” she shot out. “And I’d be a fool to trust you again.”

I looked down at my hands, flipping them open till I could see the lines transferring across my creamy white palms. I could defend myself, but I felt like we were going round and round in circles. _Will this ever end?_

“You have nothing to say,” she noted, with some sense of satisfaction.

“I said everything I needed too last night, and obviously that didn’t work.” I took a step forward, positioning myself in front of her as I added, “Either we are in this together, or we’re not. I want you to grieve over your sister, to trust me less because of what I’ve done. But for gods sake’s, Sansa, don’t throw everything away!”

“You know that I love you,” she feebly replied. “And that’s why I can’t believe you did it.”

“The man who murdered your sister, is not the man standing before you now. I’m different.” I raised my hand to hover just above her belly. “Our child has made me different.”

She took a hold of my hand and laid it over her stomach, swallowing hard when I finally closed the gap between us with small shuffling of feet. “I love you, Petyr,” she confessed, while her hand trembled on top of mine. “Why did you have to do it?”

“Because I was greedy,” I replied, and flickered my eyes in Darin’s direction, as if I wanted to teach him a valuable lesson. “I was angry and revengeful, and I wanted to see you suffer as much as I.”

“And I did.”

“You did,” I acknowledged, and raised my hand over her cheek, barely touching it even though I wanted too. “And I’m sorry.”

“You can stay,” she finally said, and leaned her head into the palm of my hand to prove it. “I want to try again.”

“And what changed your mind?”

She leaned her body in closer, letting her weight rest on my hand that rested over her stomach. “Seeing you again… I missed you.”

“And I you.” She kissed me in reply, and I felt my body melt into hers as she gave me long lasting kisses that sent my mind spinning in a haze. Her body fell into me, and I was quick to wrap my arms around her frame, delirious to feel and taste all of her at once before she let me go.

There was a clearing of a throat, which suddenly reminded me of the extra person in our room. “Seven Hells! Darin, I forgot about you,” I shouted out, as Sansa continued to lean into my chest.

“I can just show myself out, ya?”

“Find Varys, he’ll make you comfortable.”

“I’ll see you around?”

Sansa aggressively pulled me in as she objected, “After I’m through with him.”

I raised an eyebrow at her with surprise, forgetting Darin was in the room for a moment when I shot her a menacing grin.

“Thanks again, Lord Baelish!” Darin called out over his shoulder, and it wasn’t until he shut the door behind him that Sansa pushed me towards our bed.

I fell over with laughter, while my arms were stretched out to greet her as she landed. “Oh, Sansa,” I drawled with open heartedness, and laid a kiss to the sides of her arm that was closest to me.

She rolled into me, pinning me down before she started to undo the doublet with her dainty fingers. She was quiet, but I could tell by the smile on her face that she was pleased. She stroked her loose hair back for a moment, and I caught her hand in mid-air to bring it down to my chest. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

“Half forgiven,” she piped up. “It will take me awhile to forgive you fully.”

‘Naturally.”

“You’re the only thing I have,” she confessed to herself than more to me. “You’re only family I have now… you and our child.”

“It will come soon enough,” I assured her, and laid a hand on the small of her belly. “You’ll see.”

“I felt it move last night,” she breathed. “And wanted to tell you, but you were gone.”

“Why didn’t you send for me?”

“I wasn’t ready yet. It was too soon-”

“And now?”

“Its better now,” she said with a small smile. “It’s better that you’re here.”

“And you’ll let me stay?”

She kissed my lips lightly, before she tucked her head in the crook of my neck. “I will,” she murmured, while her fingers played with the small gap she made from the first few buttons of my doublet. We laid in silence, each listening to the breathing escaping our half-opened lips. I wanted her to be still, to trust me again, but it would take time- more time than I could ever possibly imagine.

“I want to be a better man,” I voiced aloud. “Will you help me?”

“You know I will,” she mumbled into the side of my neck. “Is that why you took on that young boy?”

“Darin? No, its because I see myself in him. I want to put him on the right track- not make the same mistakes that I have done.”

“He could…” she stopped, and moved her head away so her eyes could lock onto mine. “He could be your son?”

“Darin?”

“He looks just like you.”

“You think?”

“I do,” she sheepishly replied. “It was like.. staring at our future son, if we have one.”

“I thought he would have the Tully hair.”

“It isn’t likely,” she yawned. “Unless we had a daughter.”

“Then I hope we have a daughter,” I yawned as well, and curled into her like a cat until our forms were nearly indistinguishable.

I suppose it was the warmth of the room, or the lack of sleep, but I found myself falling asleep in her arms, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.


	60. The King of the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jon**

 The hooves of the horses crushed into the deep snow, but aside from that the world was silent. There was nothing ahead of us, or behind us for that matter, just a long stretch of frozen fields with a river crusted over with a thick sheet of ice. _The Last River_ , I noted, after I had pulled out the map to make sure we were on the right path. _It won’t be long till we get to Castle Black, and then the Wall._

  _The Wall is the only thing that stands between us and them,_ I remembered, _and they will need all the help they can get._

 My men were tired. Wildlings and Northerns alike were exhausted and half-starved to death. We found no shelter in the restless wind, the buckets of snow that flew overhead and crushed our shoulders wearily was taking its toll. I can’t remember the last time I saw a fire that lasted more than an hour, or food, honest to goodness food that was hot and had some sort of taste.

We moved like dead men, slow and steady, weaker with every step we took along the Kingsroad. I was disillusioned with lack of sleep, my bones feel stiff and brittle as I leaned heavily atop of my horse. It was one of the last surviving horses since our journey; we had either eaten them for food or watched them freeze to death during the long nights. _The nights that never end,_ I thought, as I looked up at the steel grey sky and tried to remember the last time I saw the sun.

Ser Davos shuffled behind me, his feet dragging across the snow with exhaustion. He looked as lifeless as the rest of my men, a thing I greatly feared as the headwind grew stronger against us.

 _It’s been like this for weeks_ , I recalled with a long sigh. _Aye, we have strength in numbers but will we have the physical strength to defeat the white walkers once we get to Castle Black? Or worse, will I be too late?_

There was something in the wind that changed. One of the wildlings dogs started to bark fiercely, and I turned around to see it barking so frantically that it broke away from its master and sprinted away for its life.

The wind blew harsher, tossing great mounds of snow in our faces, which made me tug on my scarf to cover the rest of my face. _Something’s not right._

Gendry lifted up his warhammer, and hung it tightly in both hands. I looked to my men and saw them suddenly freeze in place, their eyes on high alert as they looked to the high-peaked mountains on our left. Some of them backed away with their swords at the ready, closing in tighter to build up our strength. I slid off my horse, and pulled the horse’s bridle to my chest. “Davos,” I called out, and waited for him to come to my side. “Something’s coming.”

He drew out his sword with expectation, and then a sudden silence filled the air.

The snow swirled around us like a heavy fog, increasing by the minutes as we closed in tighter. I took a step forward to look at my men. “Form a line!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, with my sword raised high in the air. I ran to my horse and jumped atop of it, kicking my heel into its side to set it ablaze. “ _Hold_ the line,” I ordered, and ran down the line at a quickening pace to ensure they were in place.

_They’re coming…_

Some men trembled in fear as the darkness descended. Distant squeals were heard off in the distance, a sound I knew all too well. I steered the horse back into the center of the line and hopped off it the second I spotted Davos. “If something goes wrong your in command,” I barked. He took the news silently, not having time to answer before I looked around the flat countryside hoping to see some refuge. _There is none,_ I realized, and grunted at the fact that we may be alone and outnumbered.

“There’s something out there,” a petrified man said behind me. “I can hear it… it's _coming_.”

I turned around to see the short little man, and knew I had seen that look before. _Hardhome_ , I remembered, and felt the air leave my lungs at the remembrance of it. _How many_ _died that day,_ I wondered, _how many fell into the Night King’s hands?_

_I won’t let that happen today._

I turned around and took a few step back as I looked at the line of men before me. “Today! We fight for our families,” I screamed. “Our home!”

I stopped to look around them, trying to see the courage rise in their fearful looking eyes. “For Winterfell! For the North!”

There was a few cheers from the men, but it was so weak it left me disconcerting. _They know what they are about to face and their scared._

A deafening cry shock-waved through the air. _In all my life I_ _never heard such a terrible cry,_ I thought, and turned around to face whatever made that noise. A shot of blue light filled the air, a trembling vibration as loud as thunder followed, which immediately sent my men scattering. “Hold the line!” I screamed, and ran in front to make sure they weren't leaving. “Stay in line!”

“Prepare for battle,” Ser Davos quickly followed. “Swords up men, what are you waiting for?”

A blast of blue light filled the foggy air again, hovering just above the frozen field, enough to cast a shadow across the cold white plain to see the silhouette of a _dragon_.

“Run!” screamed one of my men, and suddenly my entire army went scattering to the mountains or falling back. I grabbed a hold of my horse and set myself on top of it, hoping the added height would strength to my authoritarian position. I marched my horse ahead and yelled out, “All of those who still wish to protect the North follow me!” and with that I reared the side of my horse with my heel and forced it to trout forward.

“Follow your King!” Davos ordered, and a few cries of “King of the North,” could be heard behind me like a valiant choir.

The temperature immediately dropped as we moved forward, and the wind blew at me like I was standing in the center of a wind tunnel on a stormy day. One of my men blew a horn to sound the alarm, and the sound of marching feet quickly followed. The air was still again, except for the occasional squeals coming from the white walkers that were undoubtedly ahead. _But how far away are they,_ I feared, _and how many must we face?_

The dragon had flew back from whence it came, but the frightening image- the harrowing sound still rung through my ears as I led my horse forward. It was Gendry who ran up to me and grabbed the boot of my ankle when he cried out, “Will never make it! Jon, let us turn back now before its too late.”

“We march forward.”

“They have a dragon!” he squealed, and when I turned to him I saw the look of horror dead set in his large black eyes. “A _dragon_ , Jon.”

“We march forward.”

“You said Daenerys would come and help us.”

“She will.”

“You said she would send us one of her dragons to protect us! We never received a raven from her, Jon, we haven’t received _anything_.”

“We fight or we die,” I growled with a brooding look.

“We die,” he told me in an angry voice. “Every last one of us.”

I turned my head away from him, and motioned my horse to move forward. _He’s right,_ I admitted, once I felt his hand release from me. _But a commander- no, a King would never say it aloud._

_I wish Sam was here, he would know what to do._

We had dragon glass and valyrian steel, and for the first time in centuries Northerns fighting alongside Wildlings, but would that be enough to fight the others?

 _What I need is Dany’s men,_ I realized, _and felt like a fool for telling her to stay because she had our child._  I chose one life over thousands, and now I have to watch them suffer. What was worse, I didn’t even know if she would come at all. Our communication was cut off the day our raven’s nest broke open and a flock of black birds flew out of the cage and headed south. _They never did come back._

_And neither will I…_

Heavy trouts was heard behind me, and I turned my head to see The Hound nearly towering over me, despite me being atop of a horse. “Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled and began to walk ahead of me.

“I’m with you,” Gendry called out to me, as he passed me by, and raised his warhammer to show his words were true. Some of the Wildlings formed themselves alongside of me, and I could tell they were getting ready to fight this war.

“They have a dragon,” Ser Davos piped up to my left. “God knows where they got it from, but we’re as good as dead.”

“If the Night King can take it down, so can we.”

“You happen to know how to throw a javelin?” he quipped, and let the corner of his mouth curl crudely at me. “Or know where Dany’s are?”

“Rhaegal should be with her,” I informed him. “Who knows where Drogon is?”

“The last time we saw it… it was flying for its life.”

“Its not like Drogon to abandon his mother.”

“Why not? She abandoned us,” he gruffly replied. “Forgive me, my Lord, I am tired.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” I whispered. “I feel the same way. I thought she would have reached us by now, considering how long we stayed acamp.”

“We never…” he rubbed the ends of his beard awkwardly. “Found Arya.”

“She’s gone,” I replied rather quickly. “Like Ghost and Lord Beric and-”

“So many others,” Ser Davos chipped in. “But hopefully, not us. You’re a good king, Jon, and I hope I have the priviledge to see you back at Winterfell.”

I looked dead ahead of me, to see the cloud of snow thickening around us. “I never wanted to be King,” I confessed to him, as I felt the air freezing in my lungs. “Sansa will be better.”

“Aye, she will be a good one.”

“She’s a _Stark_ ,” I drawled, and turned my head to face him. “And there must always be a Stark at Winterfell.”

A shrilling cry broke through the sky, and the heavy swopes of wings soon followed. The air blew harshly as the dragon’s wings blew the snow from side to side, it leveled itself in front of us, just hovering over the frozen lake when it breathed in deeply with its entire body shuddering before it let out a fearsome roar. “Viserion,” I breathed, finally recognizing him in the frail lighting from the sun overhead. It roared suddenly, and then charged at us with its legs stomping harshly across the sheet of ice.

“Fallback,” I heard myself saying, before I kicked at my horse and charged it through the crowd of men. “Run!”

The dragon took to the sky with heavy flaps of its wings, and I felt a cold air wash over me as it let out a blaze of blue light just behind me.

People were screaming at the tops of their lungs, while the frozen lake cracked from the blast of frozen air escaping the dragon’s mouth. There was chaos everywhere, people falling through the cracks of ice along the very edges of The Last River; others immediately froze from the blast of cold air from the great beast. I took my horse to the left, steering it towards the mountains where I knew there were places to hide within the dense trees. _I’m a coward_ , I thought, as I looked behind me to see my men were in disarray. The dragon soared over them all in cunning circles, ensuring there was nowhere for them to run. It roared loudly, which made my horse startle and fall right over, rolling ontop of me with its legs kicking blindly in the air. I pushed it away, and retrieved my sword before I started to sprint towards the mountains.

“Jon!” I heard someone scream at the top of their lungs behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see it was The Hound, Gendry and Ser Davos, and it was clear Gendry was injured. “Help us,” Ser Davos cried, as they dragged Gendry across the frozen snow where he was drenched from head to toe in water.

“Hold on,” I warned them, and jumped over the rear of my horse to sprint towards them. I took a hold of Gendry and threw his arm over my shoulder to carry him to some kind of safety.

“You ran!” The Hound shouted, and without thinking pulled on the back of my collar to lift me slightly off the floor. “You fucking cunt! You just left us, and ran for the hills.”

“They have Viserion.”

“We know what they have,” Ser Davos butted in with a stern tone to his voice. “We stayed by your side, and you ran from us.”

“I ordered you to fall back.”

“Before we even faced the real danger,” he noted, over the sounds of the white walkers cries from the otherside of the river.

“Some men will find their way back home,” I assured him. “Its hard for them to track us down if we're scattered."

“And harder to defend ourselves,” Ser Davos reasoned, as he motioned for The Hound to set me down. “We are in this together.”

“No, you’re right.”

The Hound reared my shoulders backwards with a sharp punch. “Of course, he’s fucking right, you stupid self-righteous cunt.”

The three of them laughed at me, before we helped Gendry to his feet and staggered our way to the mountains. “We lost everything,” I acknowledged aloud. “Our entire army is gone.”

“We still have Daenerys',” Ser Davos reminded me. “And her dragons.”

“One.”

“Its better than none.”

The screams from the White Walkers grew louder, and I could hear a heavy thud like footsteps marching in unison behind us. I looked over my shoulder and could see a shadowy line in the fog and knew they were almost upon us.

“You shouldn’t beat yourself about it, son,” Davos whispered over my shoulder as he leaned his body into me. “We were all scared, but we wanted to stand with you.”

“And I let you down.”

“We knew what we were walking into,” he reasoned. “How can you defeat the army of the dead?”

“Together,” I murmurred, and looked over my shoulder to see my men were all gone. “And now we have nothing.”

“There’s the four of us,” he reminded me, and patted me on the back of my head before he took the otherside of Gendry’s shoulder. The Hound stood behind us, protecting us with his heavy dragonglass warhammer. I felt the shivering cold at my back, knowing they were coming, stalking us like a predator enclosing their prey. A sharp growl was heard, and suddenly I heard light padding of feet skidding across the patches of the frozen river.

“Oh, fuck!” The Hound cursed, and when I turned around I saw two scraggly looking wolves sprinting ahead of us.

 _Ghost_ , I thought for a split second, since its large size almost resembled a direwolf. _Its eyes are blue_ , I realized, _just like Ghost’s was when I saw him last._

“Can you fight?” I asked Gendry, after I set him up on his two feet.

“I can try,” he answered me while shivering, and reached over for his warhammer in his side saddle to find it wasn’t there. “Oh, shit! It fell in the river.”

“Take my sword,” I ordered, and handed him the blade that once belonged to Lord Beric. “Its better than nothing.”

“I can’t light it.”

“You don’t have too.” I helped him turn around, and take his place by The Hound’s side. “Together, then?” I asked, before I raised my valyrian steel blade in the air.

The two of them charged at us with hungry growls, blue eyes barrowing into our souls before they jumped mid-air. I slashed at the one closest to me, missing by a few inches to find it landing just beside me. I swivled my feet around, crouching slightly with my blade pointing at it in warning. It growled dangerously, its tail almost as stiff as a stick as it lowered itself to the ground.

“Come on!” Gendry excitedly shouted at it, and motioned his sword forward to frighten the animal.

 _This isn’t some normal beast_ , I thought, as I heard its sister growling at the other two men behind me. _It belongs to the others._

I looked over the wolf’s head to see the sea of men coming closer to us, still marching in unsion as though it didn’t realize how close we really were. “Quick!” I shouted at Gendry, and took a step forward to lunge at the creature. “Before its too late!”

The beast sensed our urgency, and charged at us. I blinked for a moment and its large mouth was barely grazing my left arm, before I pulled it towards me and let Gendry slash the wolf at its side. It howled mercessly, and I raised the hilt of my sword to cut it down. Stab, stab, and I felt the air leave my lungs as I kept killing the beast. Blood gushed everywhere, spraying my surcoat and chainmail, splashing the side of my face till I was nearly blind. “Jon,” I heard from a distance, and felt an arm tugging me away from the spot. “Run,” someone screamed, and pushed me away from the pool of blood as I felt the world slow down and go into a haze. “Run!”

Someone grabbed me by arm and tugged me forward, helping me navigate around the piles of rock that stuck out of the ground where we were. “Run,” echoed in my ears, like the time the Wildlings attacked us at Castle Black. “Ygritte,” I murmurred without knowing, and saw the flash of fire rising higher from the castle walls for a moment.

“Move, Jon, or ya get us killed,” Ser Davos screamed into my ears and pushed me hard to force my feet forward. I staggered forward with my hand wrapped around the hilt of my sword, trying to fight back the wind that was blowing on my side. It was hard to see, and even harder to hear with the cries of the walkers as they passed over the frozen lake. We were still so far from the mountains, and I feared we would be ambushed before we reached the line of white stalked trees. Viserion growled overhead, still encircling those unfortunate bastards that had fallen behind.

“Lord Stark!” some Northern men cried up ahead. They waved us to follow them, and Ser Davos did so gladly as he pulled my arm forward. “Come with us,” they yelled into the wind, almost being swallowed up the gust of snow that blew into our faces.

I grunted loudly before I start to jog towards them. Ser Davos was quick at my side, while The Hound half carried Gendry to the group of ten men. “My Lord,” one of them greeted me, with his hand half covering his face for protection. “What should we do now?”

“Look for cover. There is no way to defeat their army.”

“They passed the wall,” one of them men spoke up with light ginger hair and beard. “How did they pass the bloody wall?”

“Castle Black has fallen.”

“Or,” Ser Davos piped up. “They found another way around. You said yourself, the wall stretches from The Shadow Tower to Eastwatch by the Sea.”

The Hound plopped Gendry down on the floor who was still shivering from the cold when he barked out, “Are you going to sit here and argue how these things came over the wall, or are you going to fight?”

“A whole army?” the same ginger headed man piped up. “On leveled ground?”

“With a dragon,” Gendry groaned into his sleeve, before he fell forward with a fitful cough.

“Jon!” Ser Davos cried. “What should we do?”

“Run,” I found myself saying. “Run for your lives.”

 


	61. Words Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains some sensitive subjects involving Ramsay Bolton's treatment of Sansa. If this makes you uncomfortable or bring out a triggering from something you have personally experienced than you may want to skip this chapter all together. That being said, there is no graphic allusions or anything to violent or severely uncomfortable in this chapter, but it can be emotionally draining so be prepared for that at least.

**SANSA**

I had slipped out of Petyr’s arms long ago. Now, the cold floor pressed against my bare feet, sending a shiver up my spine as I drowsily searched for my robe. Plush dark velvet wrapped around my form, large flower patters of an even darker complexion brushed across the tips of my fingers as I dragged it across the center of my chest. Petyr looked so peaceful on my bed, so lovely, but I felt far from it. A nervous notion still ran through my brain: Is my child’s life safe? Can I ever trust him again- completely?

I have half-forgiven him, allowing this man who I loved so dearly to walk back into my life again. He explained everything again, apologized most adamantly, but still…

I turned away from the bed, pulling the thick drawstrings around my growing stomach, and with one swift motion swooped my slippers off the table near the front door before I stepped out into the cold hallway. It was quiet still; a peaceful hush surrounded this portion of Winterfell that just belonged to Petyr and I. Our guests were undoubtedly up and preparing for the magnificent feast we were hosting tonight; an event Petyr and I have been planning out for ages. “We need to get them on our side,” he said to me, the first time he planted the seed in my mind. “The North is yours, but is it truly?”

 _He was right,_ I mused, many of them have turned on my family the second Robb’s army was defeated and his direwolf’s head was mockingly placed atop of his…

_Enough._

The chill worsened over me, like a strong wind sweeping through my velvet robe and clinging to my icy skin. _Will I ever find peace?_

My feet had led me astray, taking me to down the long hallway to a forgotten place, a shunned place I had been hiding from the moment I walked through the gates of Winterfell many months ago. The floor creaked under my feet, warning me to turn around. “I can’t,” I murmured, finally realizing exactly where my feet were taking me. The wind down the open hallway seemed to be whispering, “Remember,” from behind, leading me on this journey I both dreaded and feared. It didn’t take long for me to stand in front of the doorway, to hear the screams that could not be heard by anyone but me; my hand shook violently as I reached for the doorknob, noticing the searing pain that suddenly slashed down my back. _Touch has a memory,_ I thought, _and these wounds remember it most of all._

“You belong to me,” a deep voice growled on the other side of the door. It was there, but it wasn’t- a figment of my imagination, an echo of what he had once said. I took a step back, bringing my hand over my chest protectively. “Look at this filthy cunt,” he mockingly said. “You like it when I fuck you, don’t you?” he asked, before he covered my mouth to block out my frightful screams.

I felt myself trembling further, walking backwards till I felt the wall at my back. I was scared- I’m scared still, as every bone in my body trembled with anxiety that I had long suppressed. Fingers shook as I pressed my hand over my stomach, wondering if it was the pregnancy that was bring out so many strong emotions. “No,” I mouthed, wrapping both hands over the front of my stomach. “I don’t want to feel. I want to be cold… numb,” I whispered, and closed my eyes to desperately shut out the memories of him pulling my hair as he went on top of me, those teeth that marred my collarbone and breasts.

“I can’t,” I breathed, and was about to walk away when a small part of my consciousness intervened. “You can’t run away from your fears,” it seemed to be saying to me. Petyr’s low tremor soon followed in the back of my mind; “You can’t let fear control you, Sansa.”

He was right.

I strode over to the door and turned the doorknob, half surprised my father’s chamber room was unlocked. For a moment the room was alighted wonderfully, bright candles flickering in every corner of the room making it almost dreamlike, and I was there- standing in the most beautiful wedding dress with my fine auburn hair brushed and decorated in an elegant updo that took me well over an hour to do. _I was so beautiful that night…_

I blinked, and it was gone, then only the darkness of this abode surrounded me with only the pelting hail against the window to give this room some life- some sound. I felt myself growing rigid, haunted by the shadows of the unseen… the piercing feeling of his knife carving his way through my flesh. “Please, stop,” I wept over the bed, a mere shadow of the words I once begged to him not so very long ago. “Please!”

My tears were useless, my words as worthless as the wind. Nothing could stop him, nothing ever did. I was used for his own pleasure, his plaything, a worthless piece of shit for him to strip to pieces and maul on with his teeth _. I never could escape him,_ I thought, and so I became a shell of what I once was. _Sansa Stark died in this room,_ I realized, _but who came out of it once I was finally free from him._

I thought of Theon, wondering where he was now, and how he could bare these haunting memories as well.

I was good at bottling it up, forcing a smile for Petyr whenever he was around. I was still hurting, haunted, maybe even traumatized by what Ramsay Bolton had done.

“He’s dead now,” I told myself, I had seen to that myself. There was a shadow of my smile walking away from him, taking pleasure in his painful screams. _It wasn’t enough- it will never be enough. If only he experiences half of my pain, my misery…_

Before I knew it, I was crouched down on the floor, knees pressed against my chest as I shivered on the cold hard floor. I was there, but wasn’t, flickering between the present moment and the black cavern that was quickly surrounding me. The shadows grew darker, stretching out its long arms like ghostly tendrils. It wanted to enrapture me, to place its icy fingers around my frame and draw me into this darkness forever. “Maybe it will,” a faint voice whispered in the back of my mind, so weak it hardly sounded like my own. I am weak. I am a shell. I am…


	62. Dany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**JORAH**

I should have died that day. The sword nearly severed my neck in two, before the roar of Rhaegal caught Zuhair off guard. Enough time for me to roll down the snowy embankment to retrieve my sword that was left by my enemy. Men were charging at me- at Dany, and a sea of Dothraki soldiers could never be beaten by one man, but it could be beaten by a dragon.

Rhaegal must have sensed his mother’s fear, for he had swopped down from the cloudy sky and sent the crowd of men ablaze. They ran left and right, sprinting down the embarkment that led to the icy river down below. Man cannot escape beast, and a dragon so filled with fury at what they had done to Daenerys would be the end of them. I remember Zuhair in blind fury coming at me, retrieving his curved sword off the ground before he sprinted at me with his silver blade in the air. _Swoosh,_ sliced through the frigid air before it clashed against the side of my blade. He struck into the air again, but I was quick to respond and blocked his tactical blow as well. He was a skilled swordsman and his added weight gave the curved blade even more strength, but he was not as well protected at myself, for every nick he sliced into my armour did nothing but make him more furious. I was old, but well experienced- a lifetime of fighting in exile with the most skilled of men, and now it was finally paying off when I struck low, high, and finding that sliver of a gap to stab this man into the front of his chest. He stood there, startled by the sudden penetration, enough time for me to dig in deeper until it killed him completely. A dead corpse stood before me now, with eyes dropping downwards until I pulled the sword out of his lifeless body.

Dany had run for her life by this point, I had lost her in the bleak surroundings of this snowy hill. I feared for her life- her child’s life, but the heavy swooping of Rhaegal’s wings soon dissipated my fears _. He will protect her far better than I ever could,_ I mused, and ran up the hill to follow his long shadow that casted across the snowy white floor.

Rhaegal did protect her, and our enemies were soon screaming for mercy before he barreled flames of fire upon their icy flesh. I will never forget the scent of burning skin, the smoke and flames that filled my eyes as they wailed for their lives. A generation of Dothraki men were lost that day, and only a couple of hundred of them managed to escape by hiding in the forest nearby. _They will head south,_ I mused, knowing there was nothing for them at the wall where our true enemies were waiting for us. But what will become of them as they wander through the North, knowing they would find no friends in this land of exile. _They will die,_ I simply thought, before I pulled the furry blanket over my chin to find some extra warmth.

“Are you warm, Khalessi?” I mouthed over the tips of the furry blanket. She was on the other side of the smouldering fire, with her dragon not far behind her. “Should we have brought your tent?”

“And carry it over Rhaegal?” she asked me tiredly.

“I only fear for your safety.”

“I am cold,” she admitted, as we tried to sleep in the open air. “But Rhaegal will keep me warm if needed.”

 _Or I could,_ I thought, but those words never escaped my lips.

“And you?” she whispered. “Are you cold, _Jorah?_ ”

The pronunciation of my name sent a flushness to my cheek, a strange tenor was heard behind those words.

“I am,” I admitted after a short silence between us. “But I will make do.”

“You’re a Northern,” she reminded me lightly, with a faint teasing behind those words. “You should be used to it.”

“You forget, Khalessi, how long I was in exile.”

“With me,” she breathed, and though I could not make out her facial expression I knew it had softened.

“With you,” I agreed, and found myself wishing I could reach over the smouldering coals just to touch her.

“I’m happy you did come,” she mused aloud. “That I met you.”

I shifted underneath my sheets, feeling I should say something of equal measure, but no words would come.

“Do you remember the first time I met you? I was so happy you came from my home country and then you give me those books-”

“The history and lore of Westeros,” I continued for her. “I knew that one day you would return to your homeland.”

“You know so many things,” she inexplicably said. “You know _me._ ”

“I do, Khalessi.”

Another silence fell upon us, longer this time. An uncomfortable notion since snowflakes started to fall from the sky again. There was no cover, no safe refugee for us to hide. I looked at the dim silhouette of the dragon and wondering if I could at least find some shelter under his wing. I soon voiced my thoughts aloud, and luckily for me Daenerys thought it was a good idea.

“You can come closer,” she whispered, once we were finally settled under Rhaegal’s wing, and I felt a strong tug on my blanket urging me forward.

“You are married,” I reminded her, a weak excuse to persuade her away to keep our distance. She was close enough, so close I could simply reach out my hand and touch her. _What would happen if I touched her? Would I ever be able to stop?_

“So, are you?” she joked.

“No, that ended a long time ago,” I grumbled. “Our marriage is legally broken. She was _unfaithful._ ” The last word felt bitter in my mouth, making my tongue curl upward and stick at the top of my mouth. She broke my heart, and now this woman in front of me is doing the same.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, before she curled herself closer to me, leaving only a small gap between our bodies. “You give so much and get nothing in return.”

“I have you,” I said without thinking, and without her having a second thought she placed her hand on my shoulder and leaned in for a kiss. I was surprised to feel how warm she felt, so soft and luscious was her lips as they continued to venture into my own. I was rigid underneath her touch though, too shocked and hesitant to believe it was true.

She broke our lips away and rolled slightly back with her hand still resting on my shoulder. “I thought you would have wanted that.”

“I do.”

“Then…” her fingers curled into my woolen coat absent-mindedly. “Why aren’t you kissing me?”

“I thought you would break away-”

“Break away?” she laughed, her voice ringing like a pleasant tune.

“You would not like it.”

“You forget, Jorah, it was I who kissed you.”

“And I’m not sure why,” I grumbled with a hint of sarcasm.

“To make you feel better,” she simply replied, though I felt it was a lie.

I stared at her darkened profile, wishing I could make out the expressions that were written on her face. The shadow of Rhaegal’s wings fell upon her form, and I saw nothing in this dim lighting except the shimmering rays of the moon on my side of the body. Her hand was still on me, though the grip seemed to weaken by the moment.

“You are quiet,” she observed. “More than usual.”

_I’m thinking._

She curled her body into me again, brushing her knees against the front of my thighs. “I thought you deserved it,” she voiced aloud. “After all that you have done. When the Dothraki soldiers turned on me, you were the only one left standing there to protect me.”

“I am loyal to my Queen.”

“More than loyal,” she breathed out frantically. “You almost died back there.”

“I made an oath to you,” I reminded her. “To _protect_ you.”

“You have done more than protecting me,” she argued, as her grip around my shoulder blade tightened. “You risked your life for me more times than I can count. You crossed the narrow sea with me, so I could take the Iron Throne.”

I blinked slowly, bring my head almost to my chest as I considered the words she had just said. She is right, but I would have done even more if she asked me too.

“Whenever my life is in danger,” she continued, as if her thoughts were continuing to unravel for herself and I. “It was never Drogo or Daario or even _Jon_ …” She paused, and I felt her grip growing to full strength until she practically cupped my shoulder blade in full. “It was you.”

I leaned into her suddenly and kissed her frantically, sliding my arm around her tiny frame to bring her closer to my chest. She kissed me with equal measure, quickly as I had done until it became hurried, rushed kisses as if we were afraid one of us would break away. She clawed her hands into me more deeply, letting his slip over my back as her leg promptly went over my outer thigh in a suggestive position. I continued to kiss her, slowing down knowing she wouldn’t suddenly break away. My lips were so inexperienced, for it had been so long since I had kissed a woman.

“Khalessi,” I said with wonder, once her lips traveled across the side of my face and kissed my frozen skin fervently. I felt a trail of heat traveling down my body, creating an erection I wasn’t fully prepared for. I knew she felt it as she pressed her body closer to mine, and in my embarrassment, I tried to move my body away from hers. Dany quickly followed my motions and used her steady hands to bring me near to her again.

“Stay,” she urged, bringing those small fingers of hers that I had always longed to kiss through my thin hair. I was at a lost, finding all self-reserve gone, and soon I was bringing my body on top of hers, so I could kiss her with equal measure. “Jorah,” she had mouthed between a kiss, a fleeting second before I pressed my mouth over hers again possessively. I had a taste, and now I wanted it all. My tongue prodded the seams of her lips and she hesitated for a moment, she opened it partially letting my tongue tauntingly prod hers. I forgot how experienced she was in this manner, and soon she was seeking to dominant my own. “No,” she murmured with closed lips, as we fought each other urgently while my hands clasped her white uniform fiercely. I was bigger than her, stronger, and soon even my tongue was dominating her skilled actions. _Well played,_ I thought, _she really is a dragon._

“How _long?_ ” I asked her, after she drew her mouth away to catch her breath. “How long have you felt this way?”

“I don’t know,” she breathed, with the front of her chest falling after a long exhale.

“Did you want this?” I questioned her.

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you want me?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled shamefully. “I don’t know what I want.”

“But you know what I want,” I reminded her, as I gently stroked my finger down the side of my face.

“Yes, your looks say it all,” she laughed. “From the very beginning.”

“I do love you, Khalessi.”

“I- I know,” she stammered out with embarrassment.

_If only she could say it as well._

“My poor knight,” she hushed, after she took my hand that was gently grazing her face and held it in her own. “You wish I could say those words too.”

“I have no right,” I relented. “I ask for too much.”

“No, you have asked for nothing.”

“I do,” I grievously replied, despite the strengthening of her grip around the back of my gloved hand.

“Jorah,” she pleaded, and waited for my half-illuminated face to look down at her. “I do care for you.”

“I know,” I whispered, with my lip barely hovering over her own.

“You- you,” she stammered again, it was so very unlike her. “You have been there for me since the beginning. I never fully appreciated what you have done for me, for my house, my family.”

I was at a lost for words, thankful enough for her to bring my gloved hand against her face for me. I heard her kiss the tops of my fingers, surprised by her tender gesture as I caught a glimpse of her face in the moonlight. I brought our hands downwards and tilted my head to the side slightly, so I could kiss her lips again. She in turn brought her arms around the back of me, drawing me forward, encouraging my legs to move about her as she dug the toe of her boot into my inner calf. She wanted me, her movements said as much, and so I drew my hand behind the back of her head and kissed her like I had always dreamed of.

 _Don’t let her go,_ I thought desperately, noticing how feverishly her hands moved up and down my spine, exploring the whole of my body. We were getting louder, more desperate with our movements as desires and unspoken thoughts started to creep into the surface of our conscious minds. _Are we really going to do it here,_ I realized, as her hand slipped into the bottom of my coat to travel upwards. I had so many layers, it would take her ages to feel my skin, and if she did- what would happen next?

“Take off your blanket,” she said almost hysterically, and started to shove the blanket that still clung to the bottom half of my legs. “Spread it out.”

“Now?”

“Now!”

“Do you realize how cold it is,” I answered her, as she began to push the center of my chest to get me off her.

“I want you to take off your clothes too,” she demanded.

“Dany,” I worriedly replied, caught off guard that I used her pet name that only one man had a privilege to use- _Jon._

She chose to ignore what I had said and reached behind me to grab the blanket around our legs and spread it across the floor. I laid on my side, watching her completely awe struck that we were actually doing this. _I’m dreaming,_ I feared, and quickly joined her ventures before I went on my knees to unbuckle my belt. “I’m just taking off my pants,” I told her. “It’s too cold.”

“I’m a dragon, the blood runs through my veins. I’ll keep you _warm._ ”

And there goes the twitch, the hardened feeling that made my face grimace slightly as my imagination went on a rampage. _Warm,_ it was enough for me to shed off my pants and feel the cold air claw into my exposed skin.

Dany took longer, her layers were just as much as I. “Help me,” she ordered, and stood to her feet to watch me shed off her layers quickly. “You are unexperienced with this,” she observed, after I had trouble with some ties.

“I’m not used to this fashion worn by ladies,” I admitted. “It has been some time-”

“You have me worried,” she sharply cut in. “Will this be good sex?”

“Good?” I chuckled, as I squinted in the moonlight to grapple at the thin strings that continued to evade my gloved fingers.

“The only reason I kept Daario around was because he was good.”

“Daario,” I sneered with anger. “How often I wanted to beat that pretty face of his with my fist.”

“He would say the same,” she shot back, before she pushed my hands away from me and did it herself. I watched her silently, and after having enough I distracted myself with kissing the side of her ear, grazing my finger through her delicate, light silver hair. She was like glass, so light under my fingers, and yet, there was a fierceness to her that was indescribable.

“You never answered my question,” she pointed out with a bitterness to her voice. “Will it be good?”

“The best you ever had.”

“You have a lot to make up too.”

“I met all of your lovers,” I noted. “I’ll show them how to truly ride a dragon.”

“My brave night,” she teased, as she tilted her head upward to silently plead for a kiss. “You are good with swords, not words.”

“I’ll be good here too,” I bravely said, and pressed my gloved hand over her womanhood to prove my point.

“Then take off your clothes,” she drawled with impatience, before she left me to seek cover under Rhaegal’s wing. The snow was biting into the tops of my shoulders by the time I stripped off the last of my clothes, thinking I was an idiot to be so naked on this wintery night. Grabbing my damp clothes off the floor I sprinted to the cover of the dragon’s wing, tossing it to the floor before I outstretched my scarred arms to this young, beautiful woman who welcomed me with open arms. _It’s a dream,_ I told myself again, as she dragged her hand over the front of my body with exploration, feeling the various scars that nicked my skin over the years of being a sellsword. She kissed the center of my chest, making her legs tauntingly rub harshly against my leg to remind me why I was here. I had a lot to prove, she was right my words were worthless. I was hesitant, unsure of myself when there was so much to prove. I loved her though and decided that was enough to indulge in the moment. _No one loves her like I do,_ I reminded myself, before I let my hands grasp at her breast to her horror and planted my lips over hers. I decided to do what I always fantasized about, trailing every crevice of her skin, indulging in those sweltering large breasts that often taunted me in Essos. Placing my long member into her supple cunt, riding her out like a Dothraki soldier that knew exactly how to break in his horse. Oh, the spots I hit with her, the little things I did to make her wheeze with unexpected pleasure. It was like I knew her all along, every inch, every angle to make her wriggle beneath me with tightened lips. She was wrong, Dany wasn’t warm- she was hot to the touch like the dragon beside us. I was sweating on top of her, finding her tight and loose at the same time, wanting to go deep until I realized…

“Fuck!” I yelled out and froze like the frigid snowflakes just outside of our shelter. “You’re pregnant.”

“Jorah?” she breathed, as she herself started to slip out of the moment.

“I- I… I hope I didn’t…”

“You weren’t deep enough,” she reminded me. “Not yet, at least. You gave me _pleasure,_ that’s all.”

“You will tell me, won’t you? If I go too far.”

She kissed me sweetly at the side of my check, dragging her fingers across the back of my head and neck. “You care so much about me,” she said with a pleasant voice. I kissed her in reply, thankful for her even letting me inside of her. “Pleasure me,” she cooed. “Make me feel every inch of you.”

“Inch,” I growled, finding my fingers tightening over her arm, almost in a death grip.

“Ummm,” she moaned into my mouth, while she crazily rubbed her deft fingers into the back of my neck and bare back.

I was dying in this feeling, a high that I wasn’t ready to come down anytime soon. I decided to take it slow, rhythmic thrusts to build up the pressure, dragging it out to never give her the high she truly wanted. _I’m inside of her and that’s all that matters._

She moaned my name out with frustration, hating me for dragging it out since her body was demanding more. I wanted this to last long, however, waiting for her to plead out my name.

“Do you want me to do it,” she challenged in a mocking voice, a second before she bit into my neck unexpectedly. I yelped with surprise, not used to someone so wild in bed. My wife was submissive, almost complacent as she did her marital duties. Dany wanted something more, a desire I wasn’t fully ready to give to her yet. “Do it, Jorah,” she ordered in a queenly voice. “Or I will.”

I chuckled into the side of her face, bracing myself before I slammed into her suddenly, speeding it up with all the horniness I’ve been harboring for years. I drove into her like a stampede of horses, so fast and unpredictable she had to brace herself for how far she was willing to let me go. “Jorah!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, almost in pain, a noise that made Rhaegal’s wing flap in the air with alarm. I stopped suddenly, hoping I hadn’t hurt her, frozen as I heard the heavy breathing escaping her swollen lips.

“Kha- Khalessi?”

“ _That_ is what I wanted.”

“To be ridden like I was a barbarian?”

“You forget I slept with nothing but foreigners.”

“Jon is not a foreigner,” I spoke up without fully thinking it through.

“He’s a _Targaryen,_ ” she mused aloud. “That’s different.” Dany dragged her hand down the front of my chest in front of her, still letting me stay inside of her as she muttered, “We belong together. I see that now.”

“We?”

“Jon and I.”

I froze again, but it was not from the cold, it was the feeling of numbness that came over me. I hardly felt her hands entreating me to come closer, to keep the warmth of our bodies- our bodies connected.

“My bear?” she pleaded and let her fingers prod at the tip of my right ear. “It was never meant to be, you know?”

“Then why have me now?” I demanded, almost implored with a voice almost wailing with anguish.

“Because…”

I felt my hand loosening around her arm, letting it slide away until I rested the palms of my hand on the furry blanket on either side of her. “Khalessi,” I uttered, it almost rumbled at the back of my throat.

“I was always meant to be with Jon,” she explained. “From the moment I first saw him.”

“And with me?”

“Jorah,” she pleaded, sensing I was already rolling my shoulders back defensively. Her hand rested on the tops of my shoulders, massaging the area that she knew was already stiff and in pain. “Jorah,” she repeated, and laid a gentle hand on the side of my face to force my eyes to lock on with hers. “Can I say I love you, _but_ in a different way?”

 _How different?_ My lips were firmly pressed together, immovable with the stormy feelings raging at the bottom of my stomach. _How is it different?_

“You care for me truly,” she continued, as she stroked the sharp stubbles at the very edges of my chin. “I _know_ you do.”

“If we aren’t going to continue this…” I laid a hand at the side of her hip, placing it where our bodies were still connected. “Then I think I should come out now.”

“So soon?”

_Not soon enough._

“Jorah,” she cooed, and laid her soft lips at the corner of my jawline where the sensitive part of my skin ignited by the simplest touch of her. The heat from her exhale brushed across my cold face, making me lean into her more as if she was a blazing fire. A soft moan escaped me as she dragged her top teeth down my neck, letting her hands play with my curly blonde locks. “You smell like a man, Jorah,” she whispered, after she placed her bottom lip around my earlobe. “And taste like one too.”

“Dany,” I uttered with a shaking voice, feeling seduced by her words and sly touches.

“And I know your good, but you could be better.”

“I’m…” I swallowed hard, feeling my chest heave as her warm hands pressed firmly to the center of my chest.

“Will you do that for me, Jorah?” she practically purred.

“You don’t want-”

“I do,” she hushed, spreading her hands across my broad chest and then laid it on the sides of my arm. She stroked them deftly, an alluring massage that sent my lips downwards to catch hers. This wasn’t a dream anymore, or even a nightmare, and to be honest I wasn’t entirely sure what it was; I was certain of one thing- she wanted me.

“Dany,” I screeched, a last sound escaping me before I finally lost control of my body and went charging into her again. _Oh, she felt so good,_ I thought, and delighted in the feel of her body beneath me. I felt dominant, alive, knowing that this woman I have loved for so long was actually letting me do this.

“More,” she begged like a wanton woman, after she wrapped her arms around me and held me close. “Please, Jorah!”

I gave her everything I had, every atom of my strength was given to her. I wanted to please her, to love her, to show her everything I had been bottling up inside, and nothing could compare to the moment she finally let out an elated cry filled with pleasure. “Yes,” she kept chanting, and I could only open my eyes and watch her face contour with every emotion I was giving to her. “Oh Jorah,” she breathed, after I was finally spent and laid over her body puffing out air. “I should have invited you into my bed long ago.”

_Yes, you should have._

“You’re as good as men half your age.”

_It’s only because I love you._

“Oh, Jorah,” she teasingly said, and kissed the top of my nose unexpectedly. “You are tired.”

“I don’t think this old heart can take it.”

She giggled lightly as she rubbed her hand not so innocently down my toned arms. “I would say different.”

“Meaning?”

“I think you are rather fit for a man your age.”

I bit my lip at her, pleased that she looked so lively and aroused after I had my way with her. _Its about time something went my way._

“If only we could do it again.”

“Khalessi?”

“We will meet up with Jon soon, and then we will have to keep this a secret.”

I looked downwards, unintentionally letting my eyes fall to her heaving breasts. I didn’t want to share Dany with him, or with any man for that matter. I wanted her for myself, this beautifully strong woman was the only one that claimed me, and now that I had a taste…

“You will keep this a secret, won’t you?”

“If you wish it.”

“I order it,” she corrected. “He can never know.”

“Khalessi,” I exclaimed with a slight tremor in my voice. “Was this a- a one time-”

“Yes,” she interjected.

“So, you don’t really…”

“Have feelings for you?” she surmised. Her hand cupped the side of my neck, eyes looking into my own pale blue serenely. “I do, Jorah, but I can’t act on it. Not anymore.”

My jaw tightened. I felt used, almost tossed aside without any disregard for my feelings.

“I am married,” she reminded me. “And a Queen.”

“I know, Khalessi.”

“Then will you look at me?” I lifted my eyes to her level, taking in the harshness in the depth of her orbs as if something was fuming inside of her. “It might take us a day or more to reach the wall. You said so yourself, so we can do it again, couldn’t we?”

“I would like that,” I confessed. “But…”

“You don’t want it to stop,” she confirmed for me, as if she could sense the rest of my thoughts. “If it was up to you then we would never see Jon again.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it,” she rebutted. “And to be honest, a part of me wishes it too. I love Jon but…”

I placed my warm hands against her check, steading her so she can voice the rest of her thoughts. “Tell me.”

“It was all so sudden, so rushed…”

“So was Drogo and Daario,” I reminded her. “And you never had second thoughts.”

“I was meant to meet Jon. Love him…” she brushed my feeble hands away from her face and tucked in the crook of my shoulder and chest. “But I can never fully love him. A part of me will always belong to Drogo, maybe even Daario and…” The show of hesitation was unnerving, but she soon swayed my insecurity when she drew my head forward with her hands and kissed me hungrily. I moaned into her mouth with surprise, barely drawing one thought from another when she was so demanding with my body and my mouth that she shoved open with her tongue. I was growing hard again; a part of me wondered if this was even possible. “Jorah,” she hummed, before I opened my mouth widely and enclosed my lips over her own. An insatiable desire overwhelmed me suddenly, a longing stirring wildly and brimming to the surface as I shoved her up the furry blanket and demanded more from her body. “Jorah,” lulled in my ear like a sweet lullaby, and I knew this night was far from over. There was no desire to sleep, to hide from the cover of the night. All I wanted was to feel her hot flesh against mine, the sharp shudder of her heaving chest and the stirring of her fingers as she went lower and lower to explore more of my body until she fully cupped my ass. If this was surely a dream I never wanted to wake up.

* * *

The sun was bleak when I woke up, a faint shine of blue light rested at our heels as I moved my head upwards to take sight of our entangled bodies. She was fast asleep, almost child-like with her hands still around the back of my neck. I kissed her brow, and gently brushed her morning hair away from her face. I reluctantly untangled her arms from around me and searched in the dim lighting for my socks and boots. Once they were finally settled, I crept under Rhaegal’s wing until I was finally out of his shady canopy and headed south in search of somewhere private to piss. _What a shriveled thing,_ I thought, as I looked at my frozen cock, happy that it was at least functioning on this cold winter’s day. Once I was finally relieved, I stalked my way back to Rhaegal’s large form and felt half surprised that he didn’t stir when I brushed my bare hand down the back of its spine. I noticed the tilt of his neck, and the piercing eyes fixating on me as I stood well behind him. _He trusts me,_ I thought, and felt some relief by that. _Well, I did just fuck his mother,_ I mused, and patted his rigid scales before I crawled on my knees to go under his heavy wing.

My clothes were put on in no time at all, hating the way my body trembled from the cold. Fully dressed, I wrapped my arms around my Queen and cuddled to her form to give her warmth, or that’s what I told myself as I snuggled my head in the crook of her neck. She was naked, a mere thought that made my cock twitch, but I silenced my thoughts as best as I could, not wanting to give her a rude awakening. I stayed like this for a while, listening to her gentle breathing and the hush sounds coming from the morning wind. My ears were biting cold as I felt the wind coming from behind me, but at least I was sheltering her and keeping her safe from harm. I was half tempted to clothe her, but I know that would only awaken her. _Let her sleep,_ I told myself, and kissed the side of her neck softly before I let myself lull back to sleep as well.

“You’re dressed,” stirred my half-asleep thoughts and I opened my eyes to find her awakened. “When?”

“This morning,” I yawned into my hand. “I was cold.”

“So am I. Will you help me?”

I nodded my head and helped her crawl her way down the narrow tunnel Rhaegal’s wing created for us before we crawled back to our feet. “My clothes are everywhere,” she almost laughed, and went in search of them near the end of our bed, as I covered her naked body with a set of blankets as best as I could. “Where are my boots?’

“Let me,” I entreated, and made her stand still so I can do the work for her. She was a Queen, but I wanted to treat her like one, indulge- no spoil her like the precious child she was.  “Khalessi,” I muttered, after her entire wardrobe was in my arms in front of her. “I think that’s everything.”

“Dany,” she corrected. “You can call me that, you know?”

“Its- it’s the morning,” I stammered out. “I thought everything would change.”

“No,” she objected, before she reached for her socks and boots first. “It hasn’t.”

“But you still will not have me.”

“Not in that way, no.”

“Then what good am I to you?” I blurted out, forgetful of the anger I continued to harbour against Jon Snow.

“Will you leave me?”

“No.”

“Then that is the good to me,” she answered, as she laid a hand on my forearm, so she could put on her socks. The blanket over her shoulders fell to the floor and I had the misfortune, or was it fortune to see her standing as naked as the day she was born in the bright sunlight on a clear morning day. She noticed the biting of my lip as I took in the hardness to her nipples, the coldness that made goosebumps grace her pale white skin. “Hand me that one,” she asked of me, pointing to a grey shirt that was long and heavy in my arms. “I need it first.”

She pulled it over her, and I found myself grunting to see she was fully covered. “I can have you,” she mused aloud. “But not yet.”

“Then when?”

“I shouldn’t even be saying these things,” she said in a haughty demeanour. “ _We_ shouldn’t be saying these things.”

“When!”

She pulled a long white item off my arm and draped it over herself until she looked snug and warm. “Whenever we can be alone.”

“You mean when Jon isn’t around.”

“I was implying it.” Her snide remark took me by surprise, and I found myself alarmed and aroused by this woman who so calmly spoke about adultery in front of me. “But I’m carrying his child, so we have to be careful.”

“The Stallion who Mounts the World,” I reminded her, after she took some long pants and forced her boots to go through the large holes at the bottom.

“A myth… a legend,” she mused aloud. “None of it can be proven, and it was Drogo’s child that was to mount the world. Look at me, Jorah, I have no army behind my back. The Unsullied are probably at Winterfell by now, or at least closer to the Starks than they are to us. And then, the last of my army was attacked by Rhaegal so you can see…” she huffed and then sighed grievously. “This child will not mount the world, Jorah, it will only be another Targaryen born of incest.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, taken back by her confession. She was tying the strings to her pants soberly, the lids of her eyes batting nervously as she avoided my gaze. “I am no better than my father,” she relented. “Than my ancestors.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I was attracted to him from the start. My own flesh and blood.”

“The Targaryen’s have-”

“I know,” she pleaded, and laid her hand on my chest now that my arms were fully relieved of her clothing. “I know,” she repeated, and buried her head in my chest with her fingers gripping into my leather surcoat. I wrapped my arms around the bottom of my spine, bringing her closer before I laid a kiss at the top of her head. We stayed like this for a few moments, each lost in each other’s arms. “Jorah,” she murmured, and lifted her head to kiss the bottom of my chin, entreating me to bend down slightly to kiss her fully on the lips. She was so small in my arms, so weak with vulnerability at this moment that I wouldn’t dare utter a word to break her. “The blue brings out your eyes,” she observed, as she rubbed the tips of her fingers along the royal blue surcoat that I wore with brown ribbings along the edges in a mildly decorative design. I thanked her with a heartfelt kiss, letting my face lay against hers as I stroked her silvery hair that fell down the back of her dress.

“I don’t want you to go,” I murmured out reluctantly.

“I have to go.”

“Stay with me,” I entreated. “I will take care of the child, you know I can.”

“You cannot ask me to leave my husband.”

“I’m not asking you,” I rebutted. “I _want_ you too.”

“Will my brave, noble knight ask me to leave my husband?”

“He will,” I stated firmly. “Because he loves you.”

She fondled me with her hands, leading me backwards until we accidently fell into the heap of snow. She giggled as I drew my arms around her and fought back with clumps of snow directed at my chest. “It’s cold!” she wailed.

“You said you were always warm.”

“Jorah, stop!” she demanded, once I got to my feet and lifted her high into the air. I held her in both of my arms, letting her legs dangle off to the side. “I said stop!”

“I will always do what you ask of me, but this time I won’t.”

“What are you doing?” she said with some level of excitement as I led her back to her dragon. “Jorah!”

“I’m taking you south.”

“No, we have to go north.”

“South.”

“Jorah,” she ordered, and laid her hand over my chest in a vain effort for me to settle her down. “I can’t leave him.”

With teeth clenched I laid her down on the floor and watched her take a step back miserably. “I love him.”

“Then go to him.”

“But you must come with me.”

“You ask too much-”

“I ask only of this,” she interrupted. “Please, I need you there with me.”

I bit down at the bottom of my lip, torn at the feelings for her that would ultimately betray me. “If you go south I will help you gather an army to take back the Iron Throne. I know the North, and though my reputation is stained I know I will find some way to help you. Dany…” I reached out for her, and she did not stop me when I took her hands in my own. “Don’t you want to be Queen?”

“I have a King,” she reminded me. “And I _must_ go to him.”

“With no army at your back?”

“Yes,” she answered me with a hesitant nod. Her fingers fell away from me, a subtle moment before she took a grave step back. “Come with me?”

“Dany.”

“Come with me.”

“And be… nothing to you?”

“You will always be something to me.” She reached for my hand and led me back to Rhaegal, and before long she was pressing our joined hands against the sides of Rhaegal’s frame. “He trusts you completely,” she noted, and darted her eyes in my direction. “Not many have the privilege of touching a dragon.”

“Or seeing their birth,” I rebutted.

“You have come this far. Don’t you think you should see it the whole through?” She put her back to her dragon and positioned herself right in front of me. “You came back to me,” Dany pointed out. “And now you wish to leave me?”

“I could never leave you,” I resentfully said, but was satisfied with my moment of weakness when she went on the tips of her toes to greet my lips with her own. I lifted her in the air slightly, taking it to a whole new level when I settled her on the back of Rhaegal, so she was slightly above my eye level. I loved her this way, when she had all the power of the world at her fingertips.

She brushed her hair from her brow and shot me a pleasant grin. “Then it is settled,” she relayed, as she leaned forward to draw her arms around the backs of my shoulder.

“It is,” I replied, before I sealed it with a kiss.

 


	63. A Better Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

It was the brightness of the sunlight that woke me up, a momentary streak of light through the grey clouds that found its way into my room. I squinted at it, moving my tired hand in front of my face to block it out for good. A sound in the far end of my room grabbed my attention, and when I lifted my head off the pillow completely I saw one of our maids settling fresh logs into our firepit.

“Eva?” I called out and waited for her to rise to her feet before I continued. “Have you seen Sa- Lady Baelish?”

“No, my Lord,” she answered me quietly, faintly brushing her dirty fingers on the front of her apron.

“Very well,” I grumbled, before I brushed my tousled curls away from my face. I was tired and cold, feeling a faint shiver still running down my spine from the night before. I heard my bones crack as I made my way out of my bed, slowly staggering towards my desk where my house robe would be.

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked her, as I wrapped the fashionable black robe over my clothes I was wearing this morning. “Its not lunch time, is it?”

“Soon, my Lord.”

“I never meant to…” I stopped myself, realizing I was revealing too much to Sansa’s servant. “You can continue.”

I left her to attend to my appearance, finding the water bitterly cold as I splashed it against my face and let it run down the tip of my nose and chin before I reached forward for a towel. My hair was attended too, until it was brushed back neatly behind my ears with my silver temples glimmering in the brightened candle light. My silver rings slipped back on my fingers, and then I readjusted the golden sleeves that peaked out of my all black doublet. I cleared my throat as I readjusted my mockingbird pin, ensuring it was dead center over my collar before I gave myself a wicked grin. _How can Sansa resist me,_ I arrogantly thought, and felt I looked well enough to swagger out of the bathroom and then chamber room for good.

I could only assume Sansa was preparing for the feast tonight. I had my duties as well, but I needed to check up on an “old friend” first and my protégé. Unfortunately, Varys was no where near his room or in the usual key-holed places I would find him if needed. A slight alarm, but not enough to worry me completely. I abandoned this avenue and hired a servant to go search for him instead; a single golden dragon placed in the palm of his hand with a promise for more if he could locate him on the grounds of Winterfell before noon. Satisfied, I leisurely walked down the open hallways and talked to many of my guests along the way until I was in front of Maester Tarly’s doors. He was prompt to open it with a hesitant grin before he ushered me into the room with a hurried air about him.

“Lord Baelish, you can’t be serious?” he stated almost as an accusation. “Hiring some _boy_ to take care of Winterfell’s finances?”

It was this boy that looked so sullen and low in the corner of the room, with nothing but an open book accounting book at his makeshift desk. He grimaced at the man in front of me, almost holding a death grip over his feather quilled pen as he watched us in front of the door.

“He has no qualifications!” Maester Tarly continued. “No sort of education, references, and yet, he assures me that you sent him here.”

“I did,” I stiffly replied with my hands calmly pressed over my stomach.

“But why?” he huffed and looked over his shoulder to see the dark-haired boy’s brooding expression.

“Because he has all of the qualifications and more,” I replied in a silky voice. “And you will give him a desk to fit his position, not some slab of wood that can hardly fit his books.”

“But-”

“I will have no excuses.” I waved my hand at him to show he was dismissed. “Darin, come!” I bellowed in a loud voice, before I interlaced my fingers together in front of my chest.

The boy got up quickly, giving Maester Tarly a look of warning as he passed by before he stood directly in front of me. “Outside,” I told him, and held open the door for him to pass through. “Come with me,” I exclaimed, and led him further down the hallway until we were a safe distance from the door. “Now, tell me what happened?”

“Varys dropped me off there and explained to Maester Tarly what my job was, but he’s been giving me nothing but grief.”

“Have you been given the right resources?”

“Nothing but an old book nearly five years old for me to study. He’s thinks I’ve never seen accounting books like that before!”

I scratched the side of my face tiredly. “I’ll give you an office of your own.”

“You will?”

“And I will train you myself,” I continued. “I don’t think you know this, but I was a Master of Coin in King’s Landing for many years. I also served Lord Robin for a brief time at the Vale. You will see their accounts as well, although it will not be the same now that it is taken over by Euron Greyjoy.”

He crossed his arms as he leaned heavily over his right foot. “You have my thanks,” he gratefully said, before his face returned to a neutral tone.

“Winterfell has been prosperous. We are doing well…. enough grain to last the winter, maybe even more. And more labour than we need, but I have utilized it well by beginning construction in the far east. You know of it, the ones your friends have went to-”

“The construction site,” he interrupted with a leveled nod. “What are you planning to build?”

“A place of education, you can say. I want Maesters’ to teach there, and for the people in the North to be more educated than their counterparts in the south. Ships and whorehouses have made me a lot of money, but this may be the greatest _investment_ of all.”

“I see,” he breathed out, and gave me a look of admiration.

“Speaking of investment… I want you to drop everything and grab your mother. The two of you will be living inside of the walls, and I want you to personally live in quarters near my wife and I.”

“Are you sure?”

“The guests’ quarters are full,” I mused aloud. “And I want you near me.”

“Why?”

“Because, Darin, you are my protégé.” I casted him a wicked grin, but it was genuine all the same. “But there is only one condition.”

“Okay,” he murmured, with his head bent down with a look of regret. “What do you want?”

“Its not what I want,” I drawled, as I stepped closer to him. Darin was practically the same height as me- maybe an inch or two shorter, but his broad shoulders and stocky frame made him slightly more imposing than myself. “I made an error,” I told him, and waited for him to lift his head with expectation, just as I suspected him too. “A slip of a tongue that can cost me more than we both bargained for.”

“And that is?” Darin asked in a challenging voice.

“You were _there,_ ” I breathed in a husky voice. “You heard my confession… my…”

Darin hated the pause that soon followed, watching me as I looked to my right and left to make sure the hallway was completely clear.

I leaned into his frame, grabbing a hold of his shoulder to bring his head near my own before I whispered, “You know who I killed, don’t you?” I moved my head back to catch the guiltiness behind his dark brown eyes. “I killed my wife’s sister,” I drawled low into his ear again. “It was a very long time ago, but still… no one must know.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“Normally,” I drawled at the back of my throat. “I would take this dagger right here,” and pointed at the lent one Varys had given me at my hip. “And thrust it into your chest when you are so close to my now.”

Darin shuddered under my grip, considering whether he should fight back now before it was too late. I watched that battle in his eyes, the contortion of his face before he bent his head down to his chest in open submission. “I won’t tell anyone,” he pleaded, as he felt my nails digging into the back of his neck as I hovered over him.

“I know you won’t.”

He glanced upwards and saw the truthfulness in my saphire blue eyes. “But know that if you do, then you and your mother’s life are in danger.”

“I won’t,” he assured me in a firm voice. “Its none of my business.”

“And will you tell that to Varys?”

“I already told him I knew nothing of your argument, and why you were sent out last night.”

“When?”

“Right after I left your room,” he promised me. “I am- I am only loyal to you, my Lord.”

“Then Darin,” I exclaimed with a hand raised just above his chest. “Let’s shake on it.”

He quickly placed his hand in my own, shaking it with a strong grip that told me his words were true. “How come you have so many rings?” he asked me, once I broke my hand away.

“Because I can afford them. Always arm yourself with gold, that way people are less likely to touch you. It can buy you an army, alliances, maybe even a girl or two.”

“You have a wife.”

“I wasn’t speaking for myself,” I assured him. “I am loyal to Sansa, and Sansa _alone._ ”

“How did you get so rich?”

I chuckled low under my breath, liking the look of admiration that came across young Darin’s face again. “Do you want to be rich?”

“Very much.”

“Then you must watch and learn,” I told him with a pat on his back.

“And the bird?” he questioned, as he laid a finger over the silver pin. “What does it mean?”

“My house,” I stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “House Baelish, and our words are: “Knowledge is Power.’”

“And that is why you are building that education site?”

“Think of it as a Northern Citadel,” I persuaded him with a smooth tone of voice. “I made an oath to my wife and I intend to keep it. I promised her I would be a better man.” A curl of my lip went upwards, as I brushed my hand over the pointy edges of my goatee that needed to be realigned again to the excellent precision I always strived for. “And I intend to keep it,” I promised myself, before I took a step away from him. “Now, find your mother! I have other matters to attend too.”

“What should I do afterwards?” he asked, after I had already taken a few steps away from him.

“Get yourself settled. Find something appropriate to wear, and I will send for you before dinner. You will be a guest.”

He wore a shocked expression when I left him, a thing that left me laughing hardheartedly as I walked down the hall.

* * *

I was on my way back to my chamber room to see if I could find the Valyrian dagger that Sansa had stolen from me the night before when I ran into an unexpected guest. “Petyr,” she cooed, in an almost seductive voice, positioning herself in front of my door like a lady in waiting. She was dressed in fine furs, but the trimming was matted and in need of care, showing how old her outer robe really was. _And the way things are going she won’t get any, for anytime soon,_ I thought, as I stood before her with a look of disdain.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you.”

“No! What are you doing _here_ ,” I corrected, and pointed at my chamber room door that was just behind her.

“I knew your wife was gone,” she teased. “It’s the day of the feast, and she is probably running back and forth preparing everything.”

“Naturally.” I shook my head from side to side, trying to hide my fondness for her cleverness.

“And you must be busy too, Petyr,” she continued. “Oh, I know she works you hard, but you must find some time to relax.”

“Oh, I do, believe me.”

She leaned against my door, with her her back covering the doorknob as she bit her lip at me. “I miss you, Pete,” she finally confessed with a look of hunger in her dark eyes. “I miss you on top of me, fucking me to bits.”

“I heard Lord Tyrion is most eager to do it.”

“The Imp,” she laughed, and shook her head with slight amusement. “We both know I prefer a certain whoremonger.”

“I am married, Myranda,” I reminded her in a stern tone of voice.

“Then think of this as a distraction.”

“Where is your father?” I asked her, growing tired of her presence. “I am sure he wouldn’t like the thought of his daughter trying to seduce me.”

She smiled at me, a most wicked one to be sure. “He is busy getting ready for the feast. They all are! Perfect opportunity, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Come on, Pete,” she asked of me, as she motioned herself forward with her arms in the air.

There was a muffled sound behind me, which made me turn my gaze to the corner of the hallway where I saw a figure retreating as fast as they could- but not fast enough. “Varys!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, the only thing that forced him to freeze in his steps. “Did you put her up to this?”

“No,” Myranda wailed, almost offended by my accusation. I ignored her and took long strides forwards until I could face the sly intruder that seemed so desperate to find out all my secrets.

“Lord Baelish,” he purred in an aimable tone with a certain look in his eyes. “Am I interrupting something?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

We were both facing one another, staring the other down until Myranda came between us. “Varys you will keep this a secret, won’t you?”

I grunted under my breath before I blurted out, “There is nothing to tell!”

“Oh,” Varys said, as he rubbed his hands together. “Are you quite certain, Petyr?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“A lie and a truth. They can be so similar, and yet, so different. The only question is… where does the lie end, and where does it begin?”

“What are you saying?” Myranda boorishly asked, not understanding his quip was directed at me.

“You just want Sansa to leave me, don’t you?” I questioned him. “You are doing everything to tear us apart?”

“I am?”

“I was not going to accept Myranda’s offer.”

“Oh, but you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

“Varys,” I scolded, getting tired of the little games of his. “Have you seen my wife?”

“She is not lying in her bed waiting for you,” he jeered.

“No.”

“Then she must be getting ready for the feast,” he said with disinterest. “You two can run along and play, you know. I won’t get in your way.”

“You will tell her, I’m looking for her,” I answered him, as I strode away from them both. “I’m getting worried.”

 _I never get worried,_ I realized, as I walked a bit faster down the hall. But for the first time in a long time, I was.

* * *

_Oh no._

_Have I come too late?_

An elderly maid was still clinging to my arm with concern. The room was dark from the open doorway, a chill went down my spine knowing the meaning of this room all too well. “I’m sorry, m’ Lord,” she excused herself, with a hand hovering over her mouth. “I never clean these rooms, otherwise, I would have found her sooner.”

_I only wish you had._

I removed her hand from my sleeve and took light steps forward, hating the way my wife was balled up in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth in a fetal position. She wasn’t aware I was in the room, or anyone for that matter. “Close the door,” I mouthed to the servant in front of the doorway and waited for her to close it gently before I resumed my steps. Light as a feather I walked towards her, and only when I was just beside her did I mimic my movements with her own.

“Sansa,” I hushed next to her ear, ensuring my brogue was strong enough to know I wasn’t _him._

Her hand flinched upward around her ankle, as if she vaguely recognized the sound. Sansa’s face was impassive though, except for her eyes that held nothing but fear.

“Sansa, sweetling,” I implored, and cautiously let my hand hover over her shoulder. “It’s Petyr.”

There was still nothing, a sign that she had gone too far in her mind to sense I was there. “Sansa, love,” I entreated, and this time pressed the tips of my finger into her shoulder blade. She flinched suddenly, her whole body jerking backward and only then did she turn her head to look at me.

“Petyr,” she chocked, and tears started to pool around her pale blue eyes. “I’m- I’m…”

I wrapped my arm around her body and brought her close to my own, rocking her steadily from side to side like a newborn babe. “It’s alright, I’m here now,” I promised her, and laid a tender kiss to the side of her temple. “My love, my sweet, I’m here,” I kept repeating just under my breath for as long as I could, until something in her mind started to awaken and she pressed her body into me.

“I’m scared,” she breathed, and brought her nails into the side of my leg like a little bird. “He’s not here. Is he?”

“He is dead,” I assured her. “You did that.”

“Good.”

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, and I watched her slowly gain back her composure and soon her normal frame of my mind.

“I’ll never be the same,” she said in a leveled tone of voice. “He took me, and broke me, and I’ll never…”

“No, you aren’t,” I agreed.

“I believed in so many songs,” she drearily said. “And now, I don’t believe in any.”

“Life is not a song-”

“So, you told me before,” she shot back bitterly.

“Only, because I learned a lesson as hard as yours.” I let my hand rest under her chin to take in her broken expression. “Not as hard as yours, to be sure. It was a harsh one all the same.”

“The scar,” she mumbled. “I know of your tale.”

“My tale of woe,” I joked, though my voice was low when I uttered it. “But I experienced more than the scar. Lysa gave me one too, its just not as apparent.”

Sansa looked down at her feet, too sad to engage in the conversation further. “I am sorry for what he has done to you, Sansa,” I uttered in a small voice. “I am sorry for what I put you through.”

She turned her head away from me, staring at the blackened wall that was lost in shadows. The clouds were grey and clear above us, the hail storm finally moving on from this dreaded place. Sansa let out a long sigh, letting her hand rest underneath her chin for support.

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked her, sensing she no longer wanted my presence.

“Stay,” she commanded. “I need your help.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Tell me how you feel about what Ramsay did?”

“I feel anger,” I breathed out. “Regret, shame, ignorant. I feel like I let you down, knowing that you trusted me fully. Maybe even cared for me back then.”

“I did.”

“And then I gave you to the Boltons. I thought only for myself, and what _we_ could gain from this.”

“We?”

“I never truly let you go, you must know that.”

She raised her head to look at me with a certain bewilderment, not fully understanding the words I had just set.

“I lost Cat,” I explained. “I could never lose you as well.”

“You are always comparing me to my mother.”

“That is because I loved her.”

“And I’m second best.”

“No, you are the first best,” I quickly countered. “You are more suited to me than Cat ever will.”  I took one of her hands and laid it atop of mine, noticing how closely they resembled one another in shape and size. “We both are the same, you see. We know that life isn’t a song, and we both found out the hard way. You weren’t the only one that’s been _raped._ ”

She drew her hand away, pressing it into her chest as though I had stung her. I offended her somehow or was it something else that made her back away from me.

“They are not the same thing, I know-”

“It isn’t.”

“Sansa, I wasn’t trying to compare-”

“It sounds like it,” she interrupted me again.

“I was a boy!” I shrilled out suddenly, with an anger I didn’t know of. “And drugged, and Lysa came into my room and took advantage of me. I had a child with her, and they took it away! And then the woman I loved- lost, rejected me for someone else.”

Sansa watched the hollow sigh that escaped me. She moved herself a little closer and laid a hand on my thigh for some sense of comfort. “I’m sorry Petyr.”

“We are both hurting, Sansa. Only you have become a better person- stronger because of it. You were a sweet little girl, and now you are a woman.”

“I don’t feel that way,” she relayed. “I feel tainted… dirty.”

“You’re not!”

“I feel the scars, and I feel like they go so much deeper.”

“I hate those scars,” I said in truth. “I hate having to look at it and be reminded of what I had done. But then…” I smoothed my hand over her arm lovingly. “But then I realize how grateful I am to even have you forgive me.”

“Because I’m a fool,” she joked, as she leaned into my touch.

“We both are,” I laughed, and leaned forward to peck her lips quickly.

“Petyr, how do we make this work?” she cooed, so soft it was like the gentle murmurs of a dove.

“Day by day?”

“Last night I found out you had my sister murdered. I kicked you out, and then let you back in. And now, I find myself back here… in this room… and I feel like the ghost of Ramsay haunts me still.” She cowered into herself, making he body into an immovable ball as the fear trembled inside of her. “I’m pregnant with your child, and all I want to do is run away from here and never look back.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her head into her knee, and then laid her cheek on its side to partially look at me. “Maybe I want to stay. I feel so confused.”

“And emotional,” I countered with a knowledgeable look in my eye. “That baby is doing it.”

“It doesn’t take after you, I guess.”

“No, it is clearly your side of the family,” I taunted. “The blood of the Starks run through their veins.”

She kissed me on the cheek suddenly, thankful that I somehow managed to turn her mood. I let her brush my fine hair back, while the other cupped my cheek to steady me as she kissed the soft surface of my cheek. “Petyr, I love you,” she said in pure worship, and tilted my head to kiss my lips. “I love you so much it sometimes feels like my heart can break.”

“Don’t let it,” I warned her, and kissed her back with equal measure. She pulled me into her with the back of her hands around my neck, and pretty soon we two forms falling into one.

“I won’t she promised me,” after she gave me a very long kiss, and then tucked her head into the nook of my neck and shoulder. “Thank you, Petyr,” she murmured, as I began to rock our bodies side to side in a soothing manner.

“Hmmm,” I answered her, presently at a loss for words while my heart was so full.

“For everything.”

“Thank you for letting me be here with you,” I murmured, as I smoothed my hand down her back to calm her down fully. “For forgiving me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

“Our child does,” she answered me unexpectedly. “I’m doing it for them.”

“Then, I love you all the more because of it.”

“Will you take me to the nursery?” she asked in a small voice. “I want to leave this room now.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I want to see all the presents you will shower on them,” she said in a happy voice, as I raised her off the ground. “I know you will spoil them rotten.”

“Will I?”

“You will,” she assured me, and took my arm to wrap it around her waist. “I know you will.”

“Because I spoil you.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re my Queen,” I quipped, and kissed her brow as she tilted her face towards me. “Or you soon will be.”

“So, you keep saying.”

“Because I know its true,” I half taunted her. She gave me one last kiss before I opened the chamber room door, and immediately her mood lifted as she stepped into the hallway where the servant was waiting for her.

“I’m better now,” she assured the servant, laying her arm on the old woman’s shoulder. “Thank you for getting my husband.”

I guided her away from our quiet rescuer and led her down the hallway that would lead to the nursery. _We must look forward now,_ I told myself, _and found some relief at the thought of that._

 


	64. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jamie**

“Jamie.” She said it almost as a complaint, a warning tone in her voice as I leaned forward with a spoon over her freshly made stew.

“I only want a taste.”

“You didn’t help,” she rebutted. “So, why should I let you?”

“I’m hardly any help with one hand.”

“Oh!” she snapped, before she wrenched the spoon from my fingers. “That never stopped you from doing anything before.”

 _It must be that time of month,_ I mused. _No wonder she won’t let me go anywhere near her._

Oh, I broke some grounds with her, but the lines were still in place- the boundaries to ensure Brienne was a maiden for good.

 _Cersei was never like this,_ I thought, as I turned around to fetch our bowls for stew. _She practically begged for it._

“Do you think Bran will come in?” she asked me while her back was still facing me. She was hunched over the oven, awkwardly stirring the veggie stew with the only ingredients we could find in this forsaken house. It was all we ever did now, move from one place to another, always staying on guard in case we run into…

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Bran. Do you think he will come?”

“Does he ever? He’s practically cemented to that tree. It would take the gods themselves to pull him off.”

“I’m worried,” she confessed, as she poured our lunch into the darkly chipped bowls.

“The boy can take care of himself.”

“We should have been to the Wall by now.”

I took the bowl from her hand, thankful of the heat radiating from the bottom. The stew was bubbling around the rim, steaming over the surface in a thin grey cloud of smoke. “Thank you, Brienne,” I offered her in my sweetest tone of voice, before I took my seat opposite hers.

“Why does he want us to stay here?” she asked me as she took her seat as well. “To travel so west of King’s Road, and take up abodes in these abandoned places until he-”

“Does whatever,” I chipped in. “He barely talks, eats… I’m starting to wonder if he is even alive?”

“I don’t know _what_ he is.”

“As long as he doesn’t warg inside of me, that’s all I really care about.”

We dug our spoons into the bowls at the same time, eating in companionable silence like we did so many times before. I was familiar with her now, and she was the same with me. I had found peace with Brienne, like I have never done with anyone before. The stew was bland, a handful or less of potatoes with a few dried herbs to give it flavour. I wasn’t complaining- there was barely anything left in this abandoned house, the Northerns took all they could before they headed south.

“Do you ever think we are going the wrong direction?” I joked. Brienne openly rolled her eyes at me before she continued her meal. “Everyone seems to be going south.”

“We are going the _right_ way.”

“It is always right with you. Whatever is honourable- good, and you will blindly follow it.”

“And you won’t?”

“I’m a Lannister. We don’t need too.”

“Like being a Lannister has anything to do with it,” she said in a snide tone of voice.

“Oh, believe me, its everything! We don’t shit gold for nothing,” I laughed, but Brienne wore the same scolding look as usual. “Forgive me. I sound like my brother.”

“You must miss him,” she relayed in a gentle tone of voice.

“I guess.” My spoon swirled in a few circles around the bowl as I considered it. “I’m sure he made it to Winterfell okay.”

“Lady Sansa will treat him well.”

“If you say so.”

“He will.”

“And yet, Bran once said the ‘King of the North’ would not be pleased to see him.”

“That would be Jon,” she corrected. “And he is far too North to trouble any of us.”

“I guess your right,” I consented.  My spoon jabbed the center of a potato as I openly mused aloud: “Imagine a _bastard_ having control over Winterfell! My poor father… if only he was only alive now.”

“You wouldn’t be here if he was.”

“And my sister wouldn’t be able to marry a Greyjoy,” I countered, after I squished the soft potato with the back of my spoon into the side of my bowl.

There was a tense silence, and when I looked up to see Brienne, she wore a dark expression that cut me in two. “Your sister has been known to do whatever the hell she wants,” she said with spite, and lowered her gaze away from me as if I had hurt her.

“Ah, so that’s what bothering you?”

“It- what? No! There is nothing bothering me.”

“I thought it was cold feet, but now I see it! It all comes down to my _sister._ ”

“I don’t know what you are talking about-”

“I see the way you look at me.”

“Like what? Like I want to knock you on the side of the head sometimes.”

“Brienne, there is no sense playing these games with me. I’m a Lannister! I know how girl’s look at me: they either want to fuck me or take my gold, and yours is-”

“You only wish,” she quickly interjected.

“My wish?” I chuckled and pushed the bowl away from me with faint amusement. “Brienne the Maiden. Isn’t that what you are always saying to me. You hold it like a badge of honour-”

“I don’t!”

“You don’t?”

“It isn’t like that.”

“So, I’m wrong then!”

“I don’t hold it like a badge of honour,” she stated flatly. Her lower lip quivered with frustration the longer she looked at me. “I don’t think you understand I am the last of my house. My parents are dead and that leaves only _me._ You have your sister and Tyrion. At least you can rely on them to produce heirs-”

“Tyrion’s a dwarf,” I reminded her. “And unlikely to produce an heir considering how many times he slept with whores and produced nothing.” I pursed my lips annoyedly, before I looked her in the eyes and confessed, “And the children Cersei and I made together are all gone… _dead_ , so…”

“Jamie.”

“I’m in the same position as you,” I continued, determine to ignore they sound of sympathy betrayed in her voice.

“You told me once that Cersei is pregnant.”

“That could change in a blink of an eye; her drinking and then Euron, well…” my voice faltered near the end, almost sounding empty as I realized how much danger our unborn child could possible be in.

 _I should be there protecting them,_ I realized, _and I abandoned them both._

“I’m sure she is fine,” Brienne whispered from across the table.

“Yeah,” I faintly said, and brought my bowl closer to my chest so I could resume my meal.

“I was trying to say earlier that I’m not proud of being a maiden because I have my duties to my house. I need an heir.”

“Don’t we all,” I grumbled. “An alliance between Lannister and Tarth, how does that sound to you?”

She blushed immensely, clanging her spoon against the side of the bowl nervously with a shaky hand. Suddenly she raised herself from her seat and headed to the stovetop without a single glance in my direction.

“Brienne?”

She took up a large spoon and poured the brown coloured stew into her bowl silently, her hand shaking ever so slightly as she raised the bowl to her chest.

“Brienne.”

She stood perfectly still, her back towards me as she stared down at her lunch that would soon grow cold. _She’s avoiding me_ , I realized, and wondered why I felt so rejected sitting there alone- without her.

 “Marriage is a serious thing,” she exclaimed in a slightly high-pitched voice.

“I know it is.”

She shifted her feet slowly, until she was directly facing me. Her eyes focused on the table in front of her and my hands that held the side of the bowl for extra warmth. “It is…” she stammered out nervously. “A most holy bond between two people.”

“I know it is,” I repeated, while my eyes anxiously tried to catch her own. “And that is why I could never marry before. But I am a knight no longer. I hold no more pledges to Kings.” Brienne began to walk towards me as I added, “The Mad King… Joffrey… Tommen, they are all dead. My pledge is broken. I am _free._ ”

“And now that your free you see this as a marriage of convenience.”

“I never said that,” I quickly defended myself.

“It sounded like it.”

“I was simply stating a fact,” I shot out. The last of my words was interrupted by a sharp knock on the front door; Brienne immediately stood to her feet with her hand over _Oathkeeper_.

“I don’t think its Bran,” she said over my shoulder as I walked to the door. “We should be careful.”

“Aren’t we always?” I teased, after I drew my sword out in the open and held it close to my side. “Cover me,” I asked of her, and with one silent nod of ascension I let my hand wrap around the doorknob and cracked it open.

“Please,” cried a voice so frail and broken. “Let me in.”

“You have no business here!” I rapped out, alarmed by the man’s dark appearance- skin so black it could rival the night sky.

“Please.”

I looked over my shoulder, seeking advice from the only woman I would trust with my life. Brienne motioned me to open the door wider, so she could look at the pleading beggar. She seemed surprised by the man’s dark complexion as well, but it was the brightness of his red robe that made her jaw tighten with some sort of hatred. “No,” she wheezed, as if she lost her breath. “It can’t be.”

“Brienne?”

“You- you belong to them,” she stammered out with a vengeance I had never seen before. She used her large hand to push me aside and positioned herself in front of the desperately trembling man who looked frigid to the bone. “You’re one of those priests, aren’t you? I’ve seen that look before.” Her chest heaved high in the air before she let it fall with a long exhale that blew smoke into the cold air. “Your one of the followers, the ones who worship the Lord of Light.”

“You know of us?” he asked with a slight smile, not knowing the thin ice he was currently walking on.

“I know you have the power to kill with blood magic. I know my friend was murdered by your hands.”

“Mine?”

“By your priests and priestess,” she corrected herself, clearly too rattled in the mind to think clearly at that moment.

“You are mistaken, my dear. We are not like that.”

“Oh yes, of course,” she said with sudden sarcasm. “Only when the Lord of Light demands it.”

“R’hllor has sent me here for a reason, but not for that. He gives life- not takes it. Only if necessary, he takes a life for a life _._ ”

“I know,” she grunted. “I’ve seen it with my only eyes. My friend was stabbed to death from behind by a shadow- a ghost of his brother. No one believed what I saw, but I know what kind of sorcery you people can use.”

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” he breathed. “Our people have power to take away a life as you say, but it should only be used in dire situations. It cost much to the priest or priestess that uses this kind of magic, a great toll to their life- their soul.” He licked his dry lips, all cracked and broken from the harsh northern winds. “Believe me when I say it isn’t only your friend that suffered.”

“I had the privilege of killing his brother for his deeds in battle. My honour is restored-”

“You mean your revenge,” I cut in, turning my head to see Brienne so affected by this sudden turn of events.

“I would never stoop so low,” she hushed under her breath for only me to hear.

“Wouldn’t you?”

She ignored me and turned her heated gaze back to the man who still trembled in front of the doorway. “Find somewhere else to stay,” she said through clenched teeth, before she strode away from him.

The man blinked at me anxiously, eyes so round and dark and filled with fear I could only take pity on him. “Be quiet. Come inside. Maybe, she will change her mind. _I’m lying to him, as well as myself,_ I thought, as I opened the door all the way for this short man to come into our humble abode. “Let me take your things,” I relayed in a friendly voice. “And go near the fire to warm yourself up. When you are ready you can have some stew.”

 _My stew,_ I mused. _Brienne will certainly have my head for this._

The man sniffled and shook in front of the fireplace, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the stiffness in his bones. “May the Lord of Light bless you,” he told me, with his back to me. “And thank you for your kindness.”

“I don’t need your blessings,” I rebutted. “I worship the Seven.”

“So do many people in this land,” he murmured, while he bobbed up and down on his toes.

“Don’t worry,” I told him, as I rounded myself near him. “I’m not exactly a religious man.”

“But you are kind.”

“Its cold,” I stated as fact. “It would be cruel to let you out there further, even if you have no business up here.”

“R’hllor would say otherwise.”

I crossed my arms as I stood beside him, facing this queer stranger instead of the blazing fire. “And what does he say?” I inquired, already knowing this man would probably lie through his teeth just to save his own skin.

“He warns me of the Long Night,” he replied in a frigid voice. “Of the night’s full of terror. I see battles, of families turning against each other, countless lives lost… broken. I see a face frozen over with ice- eyes blinding with blue light and it calls me… all of us.” He directed his gaze away from the fire and settled it on me. “Only one can save us, but he is weak and at the mercy of the _Great Other_. I am here to bring fire, to show Azor Ahai the way.”

“You sound like a prophet,” I uttered into the gloomy silence, hoping it would bring some humour back into the moment. “You would get along with Bran.”

“Bran?”

“The Three-Eyed Raven,” I said with a shrug of the shoulders. I uncrossed my arms and let it rest over my hips absent-mindedly. “His real name is Brandon Stark.”

“He is a Stark,” he said with a shadow of a smile.

“He is.”

“I have just come from the Starks home,” he relayed merrily. “And witness the wedding of the eldest surviving Stark, Sansa.”

“Sansa?” I questioned with disbelief. “Who the devil would she marry?”

 _Tyrion_ , I thought for a second, and quickly dismissed it with my own burgeoning self-doubt.

“Petyr Baelish,” he quietly replied, before his smile grew even wider. “I don’t know how he managed it, but she said ‘Yes.’”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It is true. The last night I spent at Winterfell was on there wedding night. They are _married._ ”

“I was told he was dead.”

“He was.”

“And then he just came back to life, is that what you are telling me?”

“I am,” he answered me with a sneaky smile. Brienne must have been overhearing in the room across from ours, for she came into the room with her cheeks on fire. If she was angry the last time, I saw her, it had escalated to new heights as she stormed her way towards us.

“Sansa would never do it!” she argued back. “Not after everything he’s done.”

The man looked slightly concerned, confused at the anger that was mutually shared Brienne and I. “I don’t understand,” I stated in a thin voice. “Littlefinger? The whoremonger is married to the heir of Winterfell.”

“He is.”

I raised my eyebrows at Brienne, noticing how opposite our expressions were: she looked full of concern.

Brienne cleared her voice lightly and licked her lips with frustration before she bellowed loudly into the room: “I should go back.”

“And what good what that do?” I questioned her, before she persuaded herself into this idle quest completely. “It is done.”

“I need to protect her.”

“From her husband?’

“You don’t know what he’s capable of!”

The man raised his hands in the air, openly showing his willingness to submit if we would just hear him out for a second. “Sansa is perfectly safe,” he assured us both. “Petyr will ensure that.”

“The same person who will backstab someone the moment they are no longer useful to him.”

“He would not do that to her.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because I brought him back to life,” he simply replied. He darted his eyes between us nervously before he added, “And I was his confident for a while. Petyr would _never_ hurt her. He loves her, even if it is too difficult for you to understand that.”

We were silent, too shocked by the news to make any clever quips or retorts to this calm looking stranger that stood unreasonably close to the fire. He rubbed his hands together, finally having the ability to bend his fingers and curl it into a ball as he stared at us. “There is a plan for Petyr, one that he isn’t fully aware of yet. R’hllor brought him back for a reason.”

“But he couldn’t bring men back that truly deserved it,” Brienne spat out angrily. “Like Ned Stark or Renly Baratheon.”

“Or my father,” I countered. “My children.”

“Or so many more honourable men who deserved the right to live again!” Brienne shouted out, after she joined our little circle in front of the fireplace.

The man raised his eyebrows, and then let it fall back into place as he turned his gaze away from us. “Who are you to say who deserves to live and die,” he questioned in a stern tone of voice. “You may very well die by the end of the day. It is the fate of us all. Only the ones that are truly needed for this great war will survive.”

“Alright,” I bellowed in a clear voice. “What makes Littlefinger so special?”

“His visions for the future. His skills to create unity and alliances, bargaining power with the high and the low. He is unique. A man from low birth and able to rise so high comes with its complications, but also insights. More importantly, I feel there is something different with Petyr and Sansa… an alliance that is strong and immovable if they are able to stay together.”

“Not if I have any say,” Brienne blurted out, and walked toward the front door to retrieve her things.

I followed her, curious as to why she was pulling on her winter boots as she leaned against the wall beside her. “Your not going after her, are you?”

“I made an oath.”

“To Bran too, if I remember correctly.”

“She needs me more.”

“It was her choice to marry him. What are you going to do, drag her out of her marriage bed?”

“Protect her.”

“We can barely protect ourselves,” I countered. “Or that crippled boy outside.”

“He isn’t a boy,” she argued, after she pushed herself off the wall to stand tall. “He is a man now.”

“A creature,” I spat out. “He isn’t even human anymore. Brienne, don’t leave me out here with him.”

“You can take care of yourself.”

“That isn’t the point!” I yelled out and grabbed a hold of her arm to tug her body towards me. “You know that isn’t the point!”

“I’m going south, are you coming or not?”

“No!”

“Then goodbye.”

“You’re just going to leave me,” I grunted, and found my grip around her arm tightening. “Just like that you are giving everything up.

“Jamie.”

“No!” I warned. “Sansa made her decision. You must make yours, are you going to keep your word or not?”

She swallowed hard, clearly conflicted with her present dilemma. “We made an oath to take Bran to the Wall, and for some fucking reason he is determined to stay here. So, we’ll stay till he tells us to throw him back on that sled and cart him northwards, but for now we stay _here._ ”

“What if something happens to Sansa?”

“Then Littlefinger is in control and he will get everything he ever wanted.”

She huffed annoyedly, balling her hands into a fist as she pounded it into the sides of her thighs.

“And even if he does, how long will he hold it? You heard Bran… and this man,” I noted, as I pointed at the stranger that stood on the other side of the room. “The Long Night is upon us, and everything we hold dear will be gone. Littlefinger will have his power, but for how long?”

“Long enough,” the stranger yelled to us from across the room.

I turned my vision to the sour looking woman in front of me. _She cares so much,_ I mused, and found I was slowly becoming the same way. _Its too late to save Sansa,_ I contemplated, _she is a girl no longer- it was her decision, and hers alone that sealed her to this fate._

“I don’t want you performing any magic around us if you stay here,” Brienne warned over her shoulder as she retained a leveled gaze with me. “Because if you do, I’ll thrust a sword into your chest before you even have time to pronounce the second word.”

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

Brienne bit down on her fat lip, her cheeks becoming hollow as she sucked in her cheeks contemplating everything she had heard and said in the last few minutes. I laid my hand on her shoulder, no longer feeling the need to squeeze her left arm so tightly. She was so full of emotions, so torn by the dangers that undoubtedly faced her friend in the halls of Winterfell. _We have our own troubles to deal with,_ I thought, and turned to face the solemn looking man draped in a heavy red cloak. “We must speak to Bran, and hopefully he will let us all travel northwards by the ‘morrow. For now, I think Brienne needs some time alone.” I let my strong hand slip away from her frame, trailing down her arm until it lightly grazed the back of her hand and fell to my side again. “I think- I think I should take you to your room,” I stuttered, taken back by the red glow in Brienne’s cheeks. “We all need some time to rest…”

_… and think._

 “Take my stew while you are at it,” I added. “You need it more than me.”

The man took small steps forward into the room, taken back by my sudden kindness and Brienne’s complacent silence. _He looks confused,_ I noted, observing the way he studied us at a distance to see if my words rang true. “You have my thanks,” he said in a smooth, rich voice with his foreign accent making his words even more pleasant to my ears. “No good deed goes unacknowledged by R’hllor.”

I walked towards him and offered my golden hand for him to shake once he was directly in front of me. “You can tell R’hllor my name is Jamie Lannister,” I joked. “And I hope he repays his debts.”

“Parcelle,” he answered me with a small smile. “And I will.”

* * *

I was sitting on the front steps of this wooden house, letting my eyes glaze over the steel-grey cloud without a cloud in the air. There had been a hail storm last night, but the weather had become more tolerable as the hours stretched on in the day.

I leaned against a wooden post, stringing a small strand of robe around my finger as I considered everything I had heard from this foreign man. He had brought us news: Battles and alliances had been formed across Westeros without me even knowing it, and I wondered how much more has occurred once Parcelle left the gates of Winterfell. I was ignorant of all things, entirely blind to the world around me. _And what of Cersei,_ I wondered, _or Tyrion? What has become of them?_

 _And my child,_ I noted, and remembered the sight of Cersei protectively holding her hand over her leather doublet where the child was in her womb. _Our child._

I love Cersei. I always will. I always dreamed of the life we could have spent together, and the children- the sweet little children who would have accepted me as their father. Those dreams are simply dust now, ashes being thrown against the wind. My children are gone, and Cersei is as good as dead if she does marry Euron. _She was always stubborn,_ I mused, _even more than me._

_What would father say if he saw me now?_

“Lannister’s don’t act like fools,” I heard his gruff voice say to me in the wind. “Do you want to say something clever? Go on, say something clever!”

I felt that same insecure, small feeling that often came over me when I was near him. Hating the smell of blood and guts that lingered on his hands as he gutted the stag before me. _He always treated me like a child,_ I mused, but he taught me well- that I knew for certain.

“The family name lives on, its _all_ that lives on,” I could hear him say to me. “The future of our family will be determined in the next few months, we can establish a dynasty that can last a thousand years, or we can collapse into nothing like the Targaryen’s did.”

I stood to my feet, finding his voice too strong in my head for my liking. _You would think he was here,_ I deliberated, and looked to my left and right to make sure he wasn’t. “A thousand years,” rang through my ears, with the same deep baritone that held the faintest arrogance whenever he was displeased with me.

 _It might not even last a year,_ I contemplated, realizing the Lannister name did not have long to live if Parcelle’s words rang true. _I may very well be riding to my death._

“Father forgive me,” I mouthed, as I took a step down the stairs to find the Stark boy.

It didn’t take long for me to find him, since he stayed in the same spot day and night. I used to think the wolves would eat him alive, but I found they would go near him without ever leaving a scratch. I could only suppose he controlled them, maybe even every restless creature that scuttled or flew across this darkling forest. I would be lying if I did not confess, I had a fear of him controlling me as well.

“I am the three-eyed raven,” he often said to me in a mild, simple voice. There was never any emotion, as if he was nothing but an empty shell.

The snow was deep and hard as I trudged through it, and I felt the wind even more biting than before. Casterly Rock was always warm with greenery surrounding the area, beautiful and plentiful from the towering forests to the sandy coasts. _How far away it seemed to be now,_ I reflected, _how lost am I, when I am so far from home?_

I found myself in front of Brandon Stark, his motionless body inexplicably a part of the tree: fingers deep into the frozen snow and maybe even the soil as he laid there with white eyes open and staring up at the sky. He was pale as snow, cold as ice, and I feared he wasn’t even breathing until I crouched down in front of him. I feared to awaken him, to take him out of his deep reverie, but it must be done.

“Jamie,” he uttered, before I even had the opportunity to open my mouth. His neck broke away from the clear white tree, the ancient Weirwood that lonely stood in the center of the deep forest. “You have come at last.”

The lids of his eyes shut closed, and I heard an echoing cry of a raven overhead. I turned behind me to see one watching me from a distance, its beady eyes narrowing into me with a suspicious gaze. A few more came and perched themselves on the trees around me, flapping their wind lightly in the motionless wind. I felt the hairs at the back of my neck perk up, suddenly feeling foolish coming here alone. My eyes flickered back to the boy and found him glaring at me with dark brown eyes, that were cold and lifeless as he gazed back at me. “I’ve been waiting for him for so long,” he uttered in a chilling voice. “He is so much stronger than me.”

“Who?”

He adjusted his head against the back of the tree, jerking it to the side as if he felt some sort of pain. “It’s the only way I can beat him,” he breathed in a faint voice. “To stop the Night King.”

“Bran?” I questioned him, as I laid my hand over the front of his chest. “Who are you waiting for?”

“The Three-Eyed Raven,” he replied with slow blinks. “He promised me that I would fly.”

I heard the winds change over my head, the bare branches swaying to a breeze that was not from nature. It was something more, something…

“And I will,” Bran uttered with certainty, before a sharp roar pierced the sky. I looked over my head to see the trees shake violently, and a longer roar that squealed fiercely near the end of it. I back peddled in the snow until I slammed into the tree beside Bran, terrified of the sound that brought back memories from long ago.

“Bran, please tell me that’s you!” I yelled, the second the silhouette of a large black dragon was seen overhead between the long branches of trees. “Tell me you are controlling that thing!”

I drew out my sword and squatted next to the boy, knowing this weapon was no match for a fully-grown dragon. A streak of red filled the sky, before it settled down into the trees not far from me, and I crouched down with my hand over my head to protect myself.

“Jamie!” I heard somewhere in the distance, recognizing the voice at once, since it belonged to Brienne.

“I’m here!”

“Jamie!” she called out again, coming from the east that told me she was not affected by the forest fire that was quickly spreading as the trees burned and fell atop of one another.

“Bran we need to go,” I told him, and wrapped my arms around his waist to lift him up.

“It is not time,” he hushed, in a voice so distant it sounded like he was in some far-off dream.

“We are going to die! We need to go.”

“You have nothing to fear.”

“In case you didn’t notice there is a dragon over our heads-”

“I called him.”

“You did what?”

“I called him.”

“A dragon?”

“Drogon.” He blinked slowly as though he was trying to focus on me. “A dragon is not a slave, but he will help us.”

“Okay,” I muttered with uncertainty, thankful I could hear Brienne’s footsteps fast approaching our spot. The moment she came running to me I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly, grateful her hands were steady and warm as she caressed my face. “I’m alright,” I assured her, knowing that worried look all to well.

Parcelle approached her from behind and looked at the great beast that circled the sky. “Fire,” he stated with a shadow of a smile, after Drogon let out another deep roar.

“Fire and ice,” Bran relayed over the roaring of the dragon. “Our battle has finally begun.”

 

 


	65. Crowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Samwell**

Gilly was tightening my dinner jacket while our baby was still crying in our bed.

“Gilly, I can do it myself.”

“Nonsense! It will only take a moment more.”

“The baby-”

“He’s been like this all day,” she argued, before she pulled on the last drawstring at the back of my doublet, sealing me up for good. “You won’t be gone long, will you?”

“It depends on how the party is going. I’ll try and slip away as soon as I can.”

“Just tell Lord Baelish your busy,” she suggested. “You _are_ the Maester of Winterfell.”

I grunted at Gilly as I turned around to face her. “Try telling him that! The amount of times he bosses me around.”

“Sam,” she chided. “We’ve been through this before.”

“I’m getting sick of it,” I moaned like an unhappy child. “You know he’s got this peasant looking after Winterfell’s finances?”

“You told me this afternoon,” she said with a soft pat on my chest. “And do you remember what I said?”

“Mind me own business.” She frowned when I mocked her voice and tone of expression word for word.

“I did,” she murmured with narrowed eyes. “And you should take it.”

“I should go,” I told her, as I gently pushed her hand away from my chest. “The baby won’t stop crying and I am already running late.”

“He’s sick,” she reminded me as I headed for the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

“I know you will,” I answered her as I rested my hand over the doorknob. I looked at her one last time with a warming smile. “Goodnight Gilly.”

“Goodnight Sam. Come home soon.”

 _I will._ It was amazing how cold the hallways were once I stepped through the open doorway, as if the winds of winter found its way into the halls of Winterfell already. I found the hallways crowded with guests, packed wall to wall with people from across the North. There were rumours that some of the guests were even beyond the Northern borders, both north and south of Lady Baelish’s jurisdictions, all wanting to pay homage to the newly crowned Wardeness of the North… and her husband.

I didn’t like Lord Baelish, and if hate wasn’t such a strong word, I would use it more freely when describing my opinions of him. He was sneaky, dishonest, and there was something disconcerting about his eyes when he looked at me. His voice too, so deep and raspy when he ways ready, with words that seemed to have an underlying meaning- a secret message that only seemed to fall to deaf ears, unless of course, it was his wife who seemed to know all by a single look from him.

Added to this fact, Lord Baelish’s reputation always prevailed to go against him. “Whoremonger,” they would whisper; “Smuggler and penny pusher,” when they spoke of his past at King’s Landing. “The one who married Lysa and then moved on to her niece,” a steady joke among the servant’s hall, a word or two behind the kitchen sinks or the large tub where sheets and blankets were scrubbed to death.

_The North Remembers._

The time Lord Baelish served the Lannister Queen, Cersei, and did her every bidding at King’s Landing. His lack of attention or even effort to protect young Sansa Stark when she was abused and tortured at King’s Landing.

_The North Remembers._

There was whispers of him paying more attention to his niece at the Vale than his own poor wife, and when she fell- the absence of grief struck many when he failed to provide any sign of regret. There were stories of him harbouring Sansa to himself, of eyes always falling across to the room to land on her own. So young and sweet and innocent they said behind closed doors at the Vale and feared of Lord Baelish’s corruption to sweet Robin and the beautiful red-headed girl who he claimed to be his niece.

_The North Remembers._

The time Lady Sansa was ambushed by the Boltons. The presence of Lord Baelish at Winterfell when he offered Lady Sansa as the bride. The sudden departure, and then return with a full army to defeat Ramsay Bolton once and for all. “Is it coincidence that he came at all?” they wondered, and even some questioned if this was a part of his plan all along.

The odds continued to fall against Lord Baelish, even his title did not sit easily with the rest of the Northern Lords. A southern sits on the silver covered chair that rests in the throne room of Winterfell, an insignificant lordling sits on the reverend seat with Lady Sansa as his bride.

_Aye, he is Warden of the North and quite possibly the Lord and Protector of the Vale too, if he has his way._

_And he will,_ I thought. _How many times have I seen him pondering over the map of Westeros? Watched him stroke the bottom of his goatee while his sharp eyes scanned the wrinkled map until every detail was etched into his brain._

Lord Baelish is a clever man, and like all clever men he does this for a particular reason- the only question is why? And what could he gain from it? What is he looking for as he looks over the bridge of his nose to study the intricate details scratched into the surface of the aged paper?

 _It probably has something to do with the number of ravens he sends out across the country,_ I deliberated. On a fine winter’s day, three ravens would be sent out at the bare minimum, and if we were short, he would quietly question when they would return with a hint of resentment. _He never sent the ravens northward though,_ I remembered, knowing he sent only a single raven to Daenerys Targaryen requesting the Unsullied presence at the castle. _And after he got what he wanted, not a single raven was sent in that direction again._

_He almost looked please when I told him I hadn’t heard from Jon in over a month._

“Should we send an army to search for him?” I asked him once, when he was walked into my office to inquire about some matter that escaped my memory some time ago.

“He has two dragons and Daenery’s foreign army under his command. Do you really think this small, meager army of ours can be of any use to him?” The lids of his eyes narrowed suspiciously, narrowing the bright blue orbs until they almost looked grey under the candlelight. “Let our army stay here. Who knows what trouble will befall on us in the next few months.”

I remembered I was completely tongue-tied, helpless when he brought up such validating points. _He always has a way with words,_ I mused, and tried to think of something else once I joined the long line that winded outside of the dining hall. This room was specifically used for special occasions, the last time it was open for the public was for Lady Sansa’s wedding. _What a grave day that was,_ I grievously thought, and tried to hold back the makings of a smile when I was surrounded by so many people.

“How are you holding up?” a voice said beneath my line of vision, and when I looked down, I noticed Tyrion had secretly budded the line to stand next to me.

“I am well.”

“You look dead tired.”

“My son is sick.”

“There seems to be a cold going around,” he agreed. “It the damn cold weather. No one is dressing warm enough for it.  With all of this fashionable people I feel like I am back at King’s Landing again.”

“You look well,” I pointed out, admiring the dark red outfit with gold and black jagged details that brought out the lion in him. The bushiness of his hair and scruffy beard added to his wild appearance, a thing that made me smile at him unwillingly.

I got tired of wearing black,” he confessed. “Gods know Cersei wouldn’t be wearing that colour for as long for me.”

“And how are you holding up? Since you heard the news, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” He took a step forward with the rest of the crowd, seemingly pleased that the long line was moving again. “I’ll tell you once I figure it out. And you? Your father and brother are dead. I was there when it happened… I’m sorry, Sam, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I _tried._ ”

“I already know what happened,” I murmured with my lips barely moving when I uttered it.

“Daenerys was trying to prove a point, but she took it too far.”

“She did.”

“She will still make a good Queen.”

I found my voice weak when I asked, “You really believe that?”

“I do.”

“Jon,” I stated, almost out of the blue. “He’ll make sure she never does that again.”

“Jon is many things,” he assented with a raised eyebrow. “But he is not her controller. She is a dragon, Sam, and a dragon cannot be controlled- it will remain free.”

We found ourselves entering the dining room, and due to the assigned seating, we were forced to go our separate ways. Tyrion was be placed in a far-off corner; a Lannister and a Southern had no real place in this assembly, but since he represented Daenerys Targaryen he had a right to be here.

The seating’s are arranged in accordance to the different regions of Westoros, all corresponding to the notable houses and jurisdictions that fall into the Seven Kingdoms. It did not take long to find mine: “Lord Samwell Tarly, House Tarly of Horn Hill,” was etched into a plaque in front of my assigned seat. If I had any say I would have swapped the plaque for a different title, “Maester Tarly,” would have been enough for me. The former title was inherited by birth, but the second I had strived for my entire life- to be a Maester was the greatest achievement I could ever hope of attaining.

To the left and right of me where men belonging to the Reach; the second largest kingdom behind the North. In hindsight, the Tyrell’s should have been in assembly, but their defeat by the Lannister army ensured their named would be snuffed out for good. There are some notable houses present that are beyond pleased that the House of Tyrell had fallen; Ashford, Casnell, Crane, Florent, Gardener and few other notable houses were now essentially free from the Tyrell’s reign. They had travelled far and wide to be here, an open display of their refusal to acknowledge Euron Greyjoy as the named “King of the Iron Throne.”

The Reach alone can offer us thirty-thousand swords, a remark Lord Baelish had made off-handily to me one day as he was musing over some old scrolls. Added to that fact, the Redwyne’s were known for their numerous fleets with enough force to rival the Greyjoy’s. _Lord Baelish has once again made smart alliances,_ I noted, taking in the shrewd, bald looking man that sat at his seat next to me. Lord Redwyne looked down at me from his long-hooked nose, pecking his nails into the frost coloured jewels that hung down his long scrawny neck. Paxter Redwyne acknowledged my presence with a hint of a nod, a gift considering how estranged his relationship was to my family.

“You look nothing like your father,” he drawled out with a mocking tone of voice.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He grunted under his breath and looked away from me, his eyes shining with disdain. _This will be pleasant company,_ I thought, before I turned my eyes to the far corner of the room where Lord Tyrion looked like he wasn’t fairing any better.

Tyrion was sitting with a table of mis-fits; the unknown peasant that Lord Baelish randomly elected to be his treasurer was now seated with some other lesser lords. _What is he doing here,_ I wondered, _and why is he sitting next to Tyrion? If Lord Baelish wanted him to go undetected, his choice of seat for that young peasant couldn’t have been any worse._

“I heard your mother,” Lord Redwyne prompted up with his small, glassy black eyes directed at me. “Is taking care of everything at Horn Hill.”

“Yes, she is.”

“A woman,” he sneered. “You’re trusting a woman with everything?”

“I am currently occupied here.”

“Yes, I can tell by your necklace you’re a Maester.”

“I am,” I said with a sense of pride. “I serve the King of the North, and that is enough for me.”

“What about the men who serve you? What do they do? Where do they go if they have a problem?”

“My mother is-”

“Your mother is weak like your father,” he interjected. “And by looking at your lack of chin you are just the same.”

“I don’t- don’t-”

“You can’t even put two words together.”

“I don’t think that is appropriate thing to say,” I stammered out. “You may dislike my father, but my mother and I are am nothing like him.”

“You may have a point, boy! No one could be worse than him.” He noticed my sheepish smile, despite the anger I was still harbouring against him. “I am just happy you don’t look like the bastard. Take after your mother, I’m guessing.”

“I do,” I answered him over my first cup of ale.

“I can see that now,” he exclaimed with a hearty laugh. “Well, it’s a good thing for the both of us. Say, when do you think will have actual food here?” he asked, while holding up the small roll of bread that could hardly whet his appetite.

“When everyone comes, I suppose.”

“Its almost full! Why can’t we start now?”

I took another sip of the dark ale, finding the wholesome malty flavour a nice change from the sweet citrusy taste of Dornish wine Lord Baelish often had at his attendance. I set my cup down, reminding myself to not drink it to quickly before I addressed Lord Redwyne again. “Lord and Lady Baelish are not here yet.”

“Waiting for a grand entrance?”

“Who knows?

“Third marriage at an early age. She must be well used by now.”

I hardly knew what to say at that moment, feeling the inappropriateness of the conversation the longer the silence stretched out between us.

“So…” he barked out. “She’s Lady _Baelish_ now?”

“That’s right.”

“Last I heard Littlefinger was married to crazy Lysa Arryn,” he laughed.

“That ended some time ago.”

“Aye,” he chipped in. “Plummeted to her death, I heard.” He smacked his thin lips with the palm of his hand to cover out the sound of his laughter. “And now- now he marries his niece!”

My cheeks were slowly turning an uncomfortable shade of red, completely embarrassed by the turn of conversation and what it could mean for the both of us if someone overheard.

“She’s half his age too,” he said with bitterness.

I decided to break my first rule and take a long sip of the darkly robust ale, hoping my lack of answers would end this conversation completely.

“I shouldn’t complain,” Lord Redwyne sighed. “Did the same thing more than once. It’s more fun that way! And more likely for us men to produce lots of heirs.”

“Lady Baelish is pregnant,” I stated as fact, a moment before the woman in question stepped into the dining room with her husband at her side.

“You don’t say!”

“Nearly three months.”

“She’s got a ways to go.”

“Yes, I can only hope the stress of ruling the North doesn’t hurt the child.” I watched her take a seat alongside her husband, as a silence descended across the room. Lady Baelish was dressed in a loose-fitting pure white dress with a golden collar that went high up her neck. If she wanted to cover her pregnancy she was doing it well, but no detail was spared to show off the natural curves of her body and the bright auburn hair she elegantly braided like a crown upon her head. There was no denying how beautiful she looked tonight, a fact that had every man look at Lord Baelish with a jealous eye. He was either indifferent to it, or simply ignored their lingering stares and instead focused on his wife that was rubbing her hand down his ruby red coloured sleeve with faint speckles of bronze and gold seemingly painted into the fabric. He caught her wandering hand with his ringed fingers and intertwined them instantly, before he laid their joined hands on the table for all to see. Lady Baelish happily talked to her neighbours beside her, letting her husband quip in a word or two to make the men bellow out in laughter.

 _I only wish I was having a good time,_ I thought, but the low rumblings in my stomach prevented that from happening.

Speak of the devil- here it comes. Servants came in from a narrowed doorway in a single line with trays in their hands containing the finest delicacies the North could muster for this special event. Turkey, ham, duck, a few salmon and haddock decorated on a single tray- making me swallow hard the more servants came in through the open doorway. Exotic fruit from the south made its way into the room, vegetables- not the rustic potatoes I often had at my meals, but carrots, brussels sprouts, peas and onions all grilled and sweltering with a cloud of heat as a servant scooped it into my empty plate. My plate was full within minutes, as I demanded it to be full from rim to rim by servants in spite of their haughty glances in my directions. _I suffered at Castle Black long enough,_ I thought, and the small rations of foods given to me nightly was never enough to suffice me.

“Hungry boy,” Lord Redwyne jeered beside me, as he caught a glance of my heaping plate.

“I don’t think you realize how much they have been rationing food,” I explained, as I sawed at the thick piece of ham in the center of my plate. “They don’t know how long the winter will last, so there’s been a shortage of everything.”

“And you’ve been starving all along.”

“I’m not starving,” I deliberated aloud. “But its nice to have something to eat for once. If only Gilly was here…” I smiled at my plate, and secretly wondered if there was a possibility to smuggle some food back for her and I.

“She could have taken the seat beside you,” he observed. “I assume Gilly’s your wife.”

“She is! But- but I think this is assigned for some Northern Lord. They took the sign away before I could read it. I guess he wasn’t able to make it.”

“The weather’s been terrible,” he agreed. “I’ve had enough of the snow! And it keeps getting worse the more I traveled up here. You know, Lady Baelish, requested me to bring grain. Do you have any idea how hard it is to trudge a carriage of grain through snow? I thought King’s Road would be able to navigate through, but no-”

“Everyone’s been saying that,” I laughed.

“Yes, its been a damn nightmare coming here,” he grumbled. “She wants the grain for safe keeping, and it makes sense to plan for the future, but _Seven Hells_ what a nuisance its been.” He lifted his goblet to slurp at the ale, finding it too strong, so he quickly set it down with a long frown. “I suppose I’ll try the wine,” he deliberated aloud. “Or a lighter ale if they have one.”

I wore a smug over the rim of my cup, showing him that I at least took pleasure in the drink as he eyed me with resentment. “I thought bringing the grain up north sounded reasonable. Share the grain, and even if there isn’t any left over, she will repay it in full by the winter’s end. You see, she seeks a strong alliance with us, the same as her father, Lord Eddard Stark, did before. I like her father, so its only natural for me to like her. It’s a shame what happened to Ned at King’s Landing.”

“Yes, it is,” I uttered out with remorse, sensing the pain hidden behind the old man’s eyes.

“Surprised to see a Lannister here, after all that’s happened.”

“He was married to Lady Baelish once,” I acknowledged aloud. “And Lord Tyrion represents the Queen, Daenerys Targaryen.”

“The Whore Queen.”

“My Lord?”

“Whore- Queen,” he drawled out with emphasis. “I heard she brought a foreign army to our land and has already used it to destroy her enemies. She will probably kill us in our sleep, if we don’t bend the knee to her. Your father was the first.”

“My _father_ made his own decisions.”

“He was stupid for siding with the Lannisters, but at least he grew some balls in the end. Too bad they got burned by a dragon.”

I sighed, wondering how many insults I could take from this old man whose tongue was reputable as the Queen of Thorns.

“Is it true the Whore Queen married the bastard?”

“Jon Snow is a Targaryen.”

“Bastard all the same.”

“Their marriage is legitimate. By all accounts he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

“So, the Targaryen girl got her wish after all. We have two Targaryen’s in power!”

“Once they return to Winterfell, then yes, our allegiance is to them.”

“I’d rather that happy couple over there,” he remarked, while he pointed his bony hand in Lord Baelish’s direction. “There is something about them I like… no- its wrong since Lord Baelish truly is no one, but then again…”

“They are a good pairing,” I deliberated aloud.

“They are.” He smirked at me before he turned his gaze to the powerful couple again. “And if I have a say the Targaryens’ and their dragons can high-tail it out of here. They are foreigners, the whole lot of them. Now, if I had a dragon, I could do whatever I want. But I don’t! And that, Tarly, is the difference between _us_ and _them._ ”

“Daenerys is different,” I argued back. “She will use her powers for good.”

“Was it good she ordered her dragon to burn your father and brother?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Or ask your Northern King to bend the knee?” He questioned me with a hardened gaze. “And then seduce him into her bed?” No! If I have any say at all…” He stood to his feet with his long arm pointing to the Lord and Lady of the North. “I’d say…” He bellowed loud enough for most of the room to hear. “… that they should be our King and Queen! Just as it was a thousand years ago before the Targaryen’s came to burn our houses and strike fear with their dragons till, we were forced to _bend_ the knee. No more shall we grovel to these foreign scum- I say we fight, fight for our lives because in the end we are stronger together! I say, this day…” He pointed his finger at Lady Sansa with all the feeling he had in him. “… this night! We hail the true King and Queen of the North!”

A sudden applause sounded off in one end of the room and soon traveled to the other, until the entire dining room was filled with deep bellows and cheers. The scrapping of chairs could be heard as men and women pushed their seats back to chant “Queen of the North” to their newly crowned Queen.

“Get up, Tarly,” the old man threatened, and pulled at my arm to force me out of my seat. “Come on! You know what I say is right.”

“Jon is our King.”

“There’s a new King now,” he argued back, with a painful slap on over my right shoulder. “Aye, and Queen too.” He formed his hands around his mouth before he yelled out, “All hail the Queen of the North!”

“Queen of the North,” the crowd chanted back, with arms propelled forward with energetic thrusts into the air as they continued their chant. The Lady of Winterfell had no choice but to raise herself from her seat. Her hand rested over her belly timidly, eyes scanning the crowd with a look of disbelief, but when she rested her curious gaze on her husband, she was held captive by his knowing smile as the cheerful chants filled the air around them.  

 


	66. Ambitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Tyrion**

“Queen of the North!” The people’s cries bounced off the ceiling, echoing down the hallways and shaking the very table where my hand was resting on as I raised myself from my seat. I was alarmed- concerned by the energy that filled the dining room as the people demanded Sansa to be their Queen.

_And just like that Littlefinger gets what he always wanted._

Sansa stood perfectly still, blinking with surprise as the chants grew louder. Her husband slipped his hands in hers, giving her a look full of admiration before he stooped low and went down on one knee. The open display of humbleness was caught by others, and very soon every man and women bent down on one knee until an unexpected silence filled the room. All eyes were on her, and she let out a nervous sigh as she felt the weight of the moment.

“My father, Lord Eddark Stark,” she began in a loud, commanding voice. “Never spoke of his brother who died by the hands of a Targaryen.” She paused, letting her words sink into the cold silence of the room. “But I know it was fear that made our people follow them. And it was love that made my father rebel against Rhaegar Targaryen to save his sister and help a beloved friend. And whether his decision was right or wrong to join Robert’s Rebellion, it has shaped the course of our history forever.” Sansa paused again, letting her eyes cast down to the floor as she exclaimed, “So, you can imagine my confusion to find out Jon isn’t even my brother at all… he’s a Targaryen.”

_Confusion? I am sure she was happily surprised to find things falling into her favour._

“For reasons unknown my father kept this a secret. His decision was honourable and just, but he had not considered what it would cost us all. He withheld the greatest secret the Seven Kingdoms have ever known… that the heir to the Iron Throne has been hiding behind these walls all along. My cousin, Jon, is the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms, and by birthright King’s Landing belongs to him.” She paused and let her chest heave outward with pridefulness. “Winterfell is my ancestral home.”

I breathed in a sharp exhale as she raised her husband to his feet. _What is she doing?_

“And in time, it will be our children’s home as well.,” she uttered in the softest tones imaginable. “And through marriage, they will inherit The Finger’s, Harrenhal and the Vale.”

There was soft murmuring among the people, and ever so slowly they rose themselves to their feet as well to talk among each other. _They did not know how truly powerful Lord Baelish really is,_ I realized.   _How powerful they both are!_

“Then he controls the Riverlands?” one of the Lords asked from the crowd.

“Some,” Lord Baelish drawled. “With strong alliances with neighbouring houses. It would not do to have another war after the War of the Five Kings. Too many lives have been lost by the betrayal of Roose Bolton and the treacherous Frey. My wife and I want to ensure we have true friends, ones who are likely to trade during the long winter. You may thank the Tully’s for the abundance of fish you are enjoying this evening.”

“We seek alliances,” Sansa added. “Just as Lord Redwyne mentioned earlier: ‘We are stronger together.’”

“You are well aware of the dangers posed to us from the south,” Littlefinger reasoned. “It is no rumour that an army strong enough to defeat the Vale is now heading in our direction. The threat is real, my friends, and you should ask yourselves once we are defeated what will become of you? How will your Houses fair over the long winter?”

“Euron’s army will take everything,” Sansa added with desperation. “And once they are done, they may stay in the North until the long winter is done. Will you be safe? Your family and children-”

“Grain and livestock,” Lord Baelish interjected with a level of gravity. “Businesses and trade.”

_It always comes down to money with him._

“You ask me to be your Queen,” Sansa relayed with a serious expression. “But I ask only for your help.”

A silence fell over the hall, the people obviously considering what Lady Baelish was asking of them. After a few moments, Lady Mormont walked up the two-stepped platform to address her newly named Queen. “I asked for Jon to be our King,” she shouted out with a sharpness to her voice. “But then Jon bent the knee.”

“Without my consent,” Sansa quickly interjected, before the blame fell on her shoulders. “As you are already aware of.”

“I am,” she consented. “And I know you were just as displeased as I was, when you heard the news.”

“And still am.”

“We feel betrayed,” Lady Mormont confessed, and looked over her shoulder at the crowd for confirmation. “For some reason all the male Starks think with their cocks.” She paused as a few laughs rang around the room. “I want a woman to lead us for a change. You, Lady Baelish, should be our Queen.”

The room erupted with cheers after that, and I knew for certain that Sansa would hence forth be knoiwn as the Queen of the North.

* * *

I had left the dining room to take a piss, and unfortunately found myself accosted by Varys in the hallway outside of the dining room.

“I can only imagine the screams coming from Lord Baelish’s chamber room tonight,” he quipped, as he positioned himself right in front of me. The hint of a smile crossed his round face, while his eyes alighted playfully the longer I tried to suppress my obvious frustration.

“He’s hardly been drinking, so he’s sober enough.”

“And so have you? I expected you to be staggering down the hallways by now.”

“I’ve been trying to cut back.”

“Oh my! What have we here? A change of heart? I remember a time when you were so determined to drink yourself to death.”

“Well, I am a changed man,” I answered him. “You’re still the same though.”

“Am I? I can hardly believe I’m serving Littlefinger. It’s like a nightmare that never ends!” He let out a small gasp with his hand over his chest dramatically. “Tell me, what do you think of the man seated next to you?”

“How would you know who I’m seated next to you?” I questioned him in almost a snarl. “You aren’t even there!”

“I know everything.”

“Then you know the man beside me won’t speak a word since I am a Lannister or Imp, or whatever offends him most,” I spat out with ill-humour. “And the one on my right looks like he’s never seen utensils before.”

“The young one?”

“The one who could almost be considered a child, then yes.”

“Maybe that’s why Lord Baelish picked him up,” Lord Varys jeered with a humorous expression. “Young and impressionable.”

“What do you mean?” I whispered, as a man walked past us to get to the men’s room. “Isn’t he a Lord?”

“His clothes… they look somewhat familiar, don’t they?”

“I don’t get what his clothes have to do with anything!” Varys tuttered at me with disappointment, which made me second guess everything. “You never answered my question.”

“When you return to your seat take a closer look. You will notice something missing over here,” he jeered, and pointed in the center of his collar where his high-collared lilac shirt nearly chocked his throat. “I must get going! Unlike you, I have business to attend too. My little birds wish to tell me songs and I am eager to hear them." He fled the spot after he uttered those final words, letting the tail of his cloak drag across the floor as he descended into the darkened hallways.

When I walked back into the dining room, I noticed people were out of their seats and mingling around. The plates were being picked up by servants, and only a few were enjoying the last of their dinner by this point. With my small height I was able to move around the crowd with ease, so you can imagine my surprise when I felt a strong hand press against my shoulder blade to stop me. “Ah, here’s my favourite Lannister.”

I clicked my tongue at him, cutting my eye in his direction to make sure I wasn’t in the mood. Lord Baelish smirked at me in his usual way as he followed me back to my seat, his steps slow but with purpose until he finally leaned against the back of my chair with his ringed fingers shinning across the front of my chair, so that I could not lean fully back in it. “What do you want, Baelish?”

He smirked at me again, before he leaned off my chair and reached around me to pluck a grape from my plate. A sneaky wink escaped him, as he placed the grape into his mouth. “Darin!” he piped up, after he cocked his head to the right to see the man seated beside me. “How are you doing?”

“Good m’ Lord.”

“My Lord,” he corrected from the corner of his lips. “You must be mindful of how you speak in future.”

The young man nodded his head in understanding, his eyes filled with unexpected disappointment. “And take care how you eat certain food. If I noticed it from so far up…” he pointed at his regal looking chair in the center of the room. “Then so will others. If you are unsure on when to use utensils, simply watch Tyrion.” He paused to smirk at me again, but this time it wasn’t as malicious as before. “He has had a lifetime training on the proper etique. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“My father taught me well,” I answered him. “I suppose I must congratulate you… on being herald the King of the North.”

“You are mistaken, it is only my wife,” he said with a sly grin, that made his eyes darken with pleasure.

“This is what you always wanted, isn’t it?”

“The only thing I want is to please my wife,” he replied with a taunting look about him. He positioned himself between our two chairs and leaned himself against the table where our food was, with his hands resting on the front of his thighs.

“I can almost detect the gleefulness in your voice,” I rapped out ungratefully. “I may be many things, but I am not stupid-”

“I never said you were,” he interjected with a sort of blutness I had not seen before. “But you seem to be worried,” he observed with a nervous cock of the head. “You thought things would be easy for your Queen, didn’t you?”

“I thought-”

“Let it make it easier for you,” he interrupted in a low, scratchy voice. “What if I made you my hand? You did so well at King’s Landing before your father returned, if I remember correctly.”

“Funny.”

“If anyone could cooperate so well when Joffrey was King, surely you could work well with me.” He noticed my disgruntled look, the way a frown slowly formed across my face. “I thought you did rather well considering the circumstances,” he added, as he leaned slightly forward in my direction.

“And so did you,” I shot back. “Seeing that you are now King of the North.”

“It does have a certain ring to it,” he mockingly replied. “It will take some getting used too.”

“Not long I hope.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, pleased that I confessed my inner most thoughts for once. _He knows I am not pleased._

“I am sure there are others who think the same,” he unexpectedly replied, and scanned around the room in search of confirmation. “Always expect adversity, Darin,” he suddenly piped up, and looked at the young man with an indescribable look. “Nothing in life is easy, and even more so when you come from the bottom.”

“The bottom of what?” I asked him, and looked between the two men as they exchanged knowing looks.

“Tyrion,” Lord Baelish piped up, and let his eyes fall on me as he purposely changed the subject. “How will Daenerys take the news?”

“Not well.”

“Those were my thoughts as well.” He blinked into the air absentmindedly, and after a few moments let it fall back in place over me. “I’ve died before, but I don’t want my second death to involve _fire._ ”

I scratched my beard as I mused aloud, “That is her preferred method.”

“Then I better start planning.” He straightened himself up, and walked between the two chairs as he uttered, “Darin! I expect you in my office first thing tomorrow morning. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he called out, as he tilted his head in the Lord’s direction. Darin’s eyes lingered a little bit longer than I expected as he watched Lord Baelish go, and when he was finally out of reach from his vantage point he let out a low sigh and fell back into his chair behind him.

I wondered what kind of relationship they have? It reminded me of something I had seen before, like Jamie and Tywin, Joffrey and Robert Baratheon… young men who felt they could never be good enough.

“He takes a lot of interest in you,” I piped up, and leaned to the side of my chair to see him better. “Usually Littlefinger doesn’t pay attention to anyone.”

“Littlefinger?”

“A nick name of sorts. Don’t tell him I said that.” The man genuinely smiled at me with a small shrug of his shoulders. “You look up to him.”

“I admire him,” he told me honestly. “And I feel out of my depths being here, pretending I am something I’m not.”

“And what are you?” He ignored my question and sawed his knife into the last of his food absentmindedly. “I feel like a bit of an outcast too, you know? A mere cub in a den of lions. There was a time when I had every man and women waiting on me, but the Lannister’s is a dying name now.” He looked away from his food to give me a look full of sympathy. It was clear this young man had a good heart, better than most- and infinitely more than the man he so closely admired. “You look very much like him,” I mused aloud. “The two of you aren’t related, are you?”

“Do I?” he asked with surprise.

“But your complexion is to dark,” I deliberated. “Like you baked in the sun or something. You’re not from Dorne, are you?”

“Father was,” he quickly replied. “And his father was from Essos.”

“I can see it now.”

“Have you ever been to Dorne?” he asked with curiosity. “I always wanted to go.”

“No, but I’ve been with Dornish women,” I joked, which earned me a puzzled look. “Their wine is equally good.”

“Yes, this wine is pretty nice,” he relayed, and lifted his goblet to show how truly pleased he was with its flavour. “But Lord Baelish told me I could only have one.”

“What is he your father?” I laughed.

“No, but I trust him.” He set the goblet down without having a taste and turned his gaze to the front of the room. “He wants me to succeed, just as much as I.” He lowered his gaze, noticing the man in question was paying more attention to his wife in front of him. “I will do everything he says.”

“Littlefinger cares for no one but himself,” I warned, surprised to feel some level of guilt after I uttered it. “I’ve known him long enough to see his true nature.”

“You are not the first to warn me,” he sheepishly replied, while he stroked the makings of facial hair at the bottom of his chin. “I know what I’m getting into.”

“I don’t think you do,” I bellowed over the rim of my cup, making the wine shake ever so slightly before I took a sip. I noticed Darin looking to the front of the room again, his eyebrows lowering slightly as thoughts spun widely around his head.

He’s a good kid and I don't want to see him get hurt, it as plain and simple as that.

“I want to be like him one day,” he voiced aloud.

“The only person you can be, is yourself.”

“Yes, but I want to be more.”

_If Lord Baelish ever had a son, this would be it._

“So much more,” the young man breathed under his breath.

“Then you must learn when to use your utensils,” I pointed out. “And proper grammar, and such things to say at meetings like this.”

“Would you teach me?”

“I’m far too busy,” I said without thinking. “No, that was wrong of me. We are both outsiders here, we might as well stay together.”

He nodded his head and turned his attention back to our table, letting his eyes fall upon me suddenly with a certain weight to it. “Thank you,” he almost whispered, and let his hand hover over his knife for approval before he cut the long stalk of carrot in two. _He_ _has a long way to go_ , I mused, _but with a heart like that he might go further than any of us have ever expected._

 


	67. A Winter Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“What?” I sharply asked and swiveled myself away from the window to face the young man seated at my desk.

“You said knowledge is power,” he answered me. “But then you said that can only take you so far.”

“Yes,” I drawled out from the back of my throat, while closing my eyes slightly to shut out the multitude of thoughts that barricade my mind. “In my arrogance I had forgotten a simple truth. Power _is_ power.” I leaned against the windowsill and uttered, “If I had called in my guards to slit your throat, no matter what knowledge you had against me it would not make a difference. You, Darin, would die.”

“Is that a threat?” he asked me, as he hovered his feather pen over the blank scroll.

“It’s a lesson,” I drawled out. “A lesson I learned a very long time ago.”

He dropped the pen down on the table and interlaced his fingers together in front of his chest. “Can I ask you a question?” he inquired in that deep voice of his, already I could see the makings of him in my mind’s eye. _The only question is, what to do with it?_

“It depends… on my answer.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Is that all?” I laughed and shot him a whimsical grin.

“It is.”

“You are very frank, Darin.”

“I am.”

“Don’t be. You must confuse your opponents.”

“But you are not my opponent,” he stated with a raise of his head.

“You’re right! I’m your friend. Your only friend, might I add.”

He smiled at me, knowing I was playing with my words, stringing him along like a carrot dangling before a horse.

“Tyrion said you care only for yourself.”

I raised my eyebrow at him and let myself slink away from the windowsill. “And what do you think?”

“I think you care about me in some way, but I’m not entirely sure what that is?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t.” He leaned back on his chair, eyeing me with uncertainty. “You expected me to say something else? You obviously don’t know me… or my wife for that matter. The only person you should ever trust is yourself, especially when you live in a castle such as this.”

“Then you wish me ill will.”

“I only wish the best for you,” I declared in a confident voice. “But in the end, it is my wife and child that will always come first. I wish to teach you these things, because sooner or later you will hear things about me.”

“Like what?”

“I have a reputation,” I considered aloud. “And as dark as it may sound to you, I fear the rumours will make it even worse.”

“I won’t judge you.”

“I used to buy and sell whores,” I told him. “I smuggled, lied, cheated my way to the top. I had every man and women hate me for as long as I can remember when I only sang songs they wanted to hear.” I raised my hand in front of my face and closed the lids of my eyes with regret with the tips of my fingers. “I know what you want, Darin, and I’m telling you now not to walk that path.” I opened my eyes and slowly removed my hand as I uttered, “I will give you the knowledge to enhance the gifts you already have, in the hopes that one day you will help me build Winterfell- the entire North into a state of greatness.”

The boy sat perfectly still, only the silver needle to his pen taped the empty page to fill the silence that quickly descended over the room. “Will you help me?” I breathed in a low voice, so soft it reminded me of a similar tone of voice I used once before at Mole’s Town.

“I will,” he answered me, without looking me straight in the eye.

“You sound unsure of yourself.”

“Why?” he breathed. “Why do you want my help?”

“I see myself in you,” I relayed with ease. “I see a shadow of my former self, and it concerns me-”

“-it shoudn’t!”

“I know,” I replied. “But you don’t know what its like to hurt the one you love. I would give anything to change that. But I can’t…”

“You’re speaking of your wife,” he said with a knowing look.

“I died for her,” I hushed. “She didn’t know that at the time, but I did… and I would again.” I turned my head out to the window, reflecting on the grey sky overhead that made the scenery out my window look incredibly dim.

“I won’t make the same mistakes as you did.”

“How can you? You’ve never be in love,” I quipped, and turned my gaze in his direction to seek confirmation. Darin’s blank, neutral expression said it all. “Count yourself lucky.”

“I do.”

“I’m revealing a lot to you,” I mused aloud. “A rare thing, believe me.”

“I will keep it to myself.”

I lowered my head to my chin and smiled to myself, wondering how I was able to obtain such blind loyalty. _He is almost as bad as Brienne._ “We should get back to work,” I deliberated aloud. “Much has to be done.”

“I am ready to transcribe anything you say.”

“Excellent.” I took a seat at the edge of the table and turned my gaze to the window again as I tried to recollect my thoughts. It was no use, I feared the past was still catching up to me, and Sansa’s reluctance to sleep with me last night only added to that fact. _She’s still in pain,_ I thought, but the coldness in our bed made me have very little sleep last night. _And I still don’t know what became of my dagger, or where it is for that matter?_

I thought last night we would be able to celebrate, but she became a different woman once I closed the chamber room door. _Is it all a game to her? I’ve trained her so well, made her such a proficient member of the game of thrones that sometimes I forget that she has the capability to even outwit me._

 _Whatever you ask me in my power I will do,_ echoed in the back of my mind.

_What if I asked you to die?_

“Then I will die,” I mouthed under my breath as the remembrance of that event came over me so strongly. Fortunately for me, Darin could barely make out the words, but that did not stop him from giving me a look of concern.

I sighed aloud, wondering how any woman could have so much power over me. At this very moment all I wanted to do was find Sansa and solve the multitude of problems that kept piling up. _All my lies are catching up to me,_ I fretted, _and now every word or action betrays me._

It was not enough that I helped her become the Queen of the North. She told me that herself as I tried to wrap my arms around her last night. “I want space,” she said in an exacting tone of voice. “Not tonight.”

 _One night can easily lead to many more,_ I reflected, it was this very fact that made my whore houses so profitable in King’s Landing.

The problem is we played our roles so well last night, as if everything was in perfect order. If only they knew that everything was falling apart and tearing at the seams; the tears that were shed on the floor only hours before in her father’s old chamber room.

 _But she looked so happy in the nursey,_ I remembered, and found myself smiling as the scene playing out in my mind’s eye.

“Lord Baelish,” a voice piped up, and I found myself blinking as I tried to zone back into the present moment. “You seem preoccupied-”

“I’m not,” I interjected. “I was thinking-”

“Would you like to do this another time?”

“Do you think my wife loves me?” I asked suddenly and tightened my lips with regret after I uttered it.

“Yes,” he said with full assurance. “Very much.”

My lips contorted downwards to the left as I mused over his words.

“Have you any reason to doubt it?” Darin inquired in a soothing tone of voice.

“I’ve done so many things that are wrong. Sometimes, I wonder how much more she can take?”

“She is a strong woman.”

“She is,” I consented. “But strong enough to leave me as well.”

Darin let his pen fall on the table, sensing we would not get any work done for the time being. I considered myself only as his mentor, but now I started to see him in a different light- as a friend. I couldn’t remember the last friend I had, and if I did, I probably payed him for his company. _A mockingbird sings alone,_ I thought, and found the muscles in my arms tighten as I fully considered it.

“I think you should go find her,” Darin relayed in a calming voice.

“No, we have work to do. Varys will be here any minute to tell me of the stories he heard last night and then I have to prepare for the council meeting, which you will be attending.” I brushed my fingers through my dark hair, letting it settle over the right side of my silver streaks as I looked out the window absently. “I will have to see if the people changed their mind after the wine and food have left their system. You will find that people are eager to say one thing but do another.”

“You think they will change their mind about Lady Baelish being Queen?”

“I think they will rethink things, yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Experience,” I assured him. “Lots of it at King’s Landing. Now will you copy down everything I say?”

“Yes.” He eagerly lifted his feather pen and dipped the quill into the black ink. “Ready.”

“I have received your letter and can confirm our full cooperation in the attack on King’s Landing. Our one condition is to wait until we have dealt with the real threat at hand-”

“- one moment,” he murmured, and hurriedly scrawled across the page as fast as he could.

“I am sure you are aware of the destruction of the Vale by Euron’s army and the rumours that he is sending his troops northwards. I can confirm these accounts are true, and I approximate the Golden Company will be here in a month. At this time, I respectfully ask you to postpone-”

“Postpone?”

“Postpone,” I stated with a whimsical smile. “Our planned attack on King’s Landing until our problems are resolved and the Golden Company is defeated.”

“Its all written down,” he assured me.

“There’s more!” I waited for him to replenish the end of his pen with ink before I continued, “I have been given word that Theon and Yara Greyjoy are approaching the borderline of the west coast and should reach The Iron Islands in a fortnight or less. It is my hope that they regain their ancestral home and use the Iron Fleet to sail southwards to attack King’s Landing on the cusps of Black Water Bay. Any further military strategic thinking shall be discussed in coming scrolls, though I am weary of it being intercepted by our enemies. You would do well to be careful of what you send in your next letter as well, in case we are in fact infiltrated by the Golden Company.”

“Do you think that will happen?”

“It’s a possibility,” I answered him with crossed arms. “If they can defeat the Vale than they will have no problem conquering us as well.”

Darin partially slipped away for that moment, as he let the lids of his eyes close worriedly.

“The next part you will have to write may put things in a different perspective,” I assured him. “There is still no news from Jon or Daenerys Targaryen. I fear the worst. We expect to encounter the Unsullied army very soon, and once they pass Winterfell gates, I will personally inquire on the matter myself.”

“Are they in danger?”

“There is a strong possibility,” I argued. “To be so far north without any help or resources, and an entire army to face that is supposedly made out of the dead.”

“I’ve heard stories about them,” Darin hushed with uneasiness. “I’d hate to think they’re true.”

“Jon thinks they are, and so does my wife. My only concern is about the living for now, and that is why we must finish this letter.” I cleared my throat to signal I was ready, and only when he nodded his head with expectation did I declare, “Our forces are strong. With help from the Riverlands, the Reach and any notable families that are left in the Eyrie we will mount an attack on King’s Landing. We will face Euron on all four sides; by laying siege on both land and sea we will ensure our victory. And if Jon or Daenerys should return, I will play my part in ensuring they are crowned the rightful King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Our alliances are strong, and I look forward to continuing our relationship between House Baelish and House Martell.”

“Dorne?” he said with surprise. “You are siding with the people of Dorne?”

“I am.”

“Is there anyone you are not siding with?”

“Euron Greyjoy,” I relayed in truth. “Sansa would have my head if I did.”

Darin laughed at me and shoved the letter in my direction, so I could review it. “Would you like me to send it now?”

“Let it dry,” I instructed. “And I have a few more letters to send, but for now I want you to take a walk to the Maester’s office and see how many ravens he has available for us.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And then go to your rooms to find something presentable to wear. Take that book with you on all the Northern Houses too, it will better prepare you for the council meeting after luncheon. It’s a boring read according to Sansa, but it will do you good.”  I raised my hand to halt his steps as he was moving towards the closed door. “If you find Varys send him here. That man is next to impossible to find,” I grumbled with a dark expression. “And if you see my wife send her here as well.” _I miss her._

“I will.”

“Come back here in an hour. I have a lot of work to do, and its best for me to not be disturbed.” I nodded my head for him to leave, and only when the door shut behind him did I hunch in my shoulders and lift the half-dried letter up to my face. _I won’t get anything done while I’m still in this mood,_ I deliberated, and decided to occupy myself with updating my accounting books until some visitor comes to release me from this self-made prison.

* * *

_Welcome to the heart of politics._

Varys was spewing information at me as I sat at my desk. His tongue rich with gossip, as he relayed last night’s events. My guests thought their words were safe in their chambers, but they did not know that every servant that attended them were our spies, and that no thought expressed against my wife and I would go undetected. Varys was the spider on the wall, and his little birds made sure there were lots of songs for him to hear.

“The Council you will hold will get heated quickly.”

“I anticipate that,” I maintained with a cautious air.

“You once told me you never wanted Lords and Ladies to bow at you.” He watched me raise my eyebrows with surprise before he added, “Your exact words were: ‘It’s hard to do it when they don’t have any heads.’”

I laughed at him while leaning back in my seat. A reluctant smile passed my face as I turned my head to the window. “It sounds like me.”

“It was you,” he insisted in a deep tone of voice.

“They shall have head’s this time,” I nearly chuckled.

“What happened to chaos isn’t a gaping hole, but a ladder-”

“It is,” I chided as I turned my gaze to him. “But I don’t need chaos when I am in control. Order is the way now.”

“It is so boring,” he maintained with a certain playfulness.

“But necessary,” I assured him. “I need all of the Houses to work together, and if they are under my command all the better. If I want to create chaos all I need is to spread a rumour or have them fight amongst each other, but what will that gain?” I leaned forward in my seat until my arms were stretched across the long table. “Unity is needed if we wish to defeat Euron Greyjoy.”

“But this isn’t about Greyjoy?”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about you having power- getting what you always wanted.”

“I have all I need,” I answered him with outstretched arms to emphasis the point. “Look around! What more can I want?”

“The Iron Throne.”

I smiled at him with a taunting look, so shrewd and penetrating it made Varys gaze falter and fall to the table in front of us. “The Iron Throne,” I repeated in a booming voice. “You will find, I have found a better chair than that one.”

“What could be better than the Iron Throne?”

“You will see,” I said with a certain air of mystery. “Anymore news you have to tell me before I prepare for the council meeting?”

“I would let Sansa speak most of the time, if I were you,” he warned. “They think you are a puppeteer pulling her strings.”

“I think the roles are reversed actually.”

“I am only repeating what they are saying,” Varys said with an elusive look.  

“I will pass on the message to her.”

“I noticed you haven’t been in her company this morning.” Varys leaned his weight off the desk and turned himself to my bookshelf, so he could watch me from the corner of his eye. “Is everything fine between the two of you?”

“Its perfect,” I lied.

“If it was perfect you would be having her on that desk I imagine.”

I grunted under my breath, hating the fact that Varys was probably right for once. “Ramsay,” I simply muttered, knowing he would get my drift.

“Ah, its hard to escape that one.”

“It would be easier if we didn’t live in the same place that he…”

“I agree,” he said into the weak moment of silence. “Will you take her away?”

“This is her home,” I mused aloud. “We just have to find a way to get past this. Wait a minute, are you _helping_ me?”

“I am allowed to show some level of concern,” he assured me, though he picked up his scrolls to show he was ready to go. “I care for Sansa, not you.”

“I am flattered.”

“Don’t be,” he quipped, and cut his eyes at me with warning before he left me for good.

“Oh, Varys,” I murmured under my breath as I shook my head with good humour. “I think he is really starting to care for me.” I looked down at my books and found I had lost the concentration to muse over them further, so I gather what I needed and decided to head back to my chamber room to change. _Maybe I will see Sansa,_ I deliberated, and found my steps sure and steady as I walked out the door. _And I can say something to have her forgive me once and for all._

* * *

I imagined her sitting on my lap, playing with my hair before she endowed me with a kiss. I pictured us under the Weirwood tree with connected hands, and her whispering things that would make me smile on a cold winter’s day. “Petyr, I love you,” she would say in the sweetest tones with eyes shining with pride as I caressed her in my arms.

How cold reality can be.

Sansa was on the other side of the chamber room getting changed, her eyes avoiding me for the past twenty minutes since I stepped into the room.

“Do you want me to get Eva?” I asked her, hardly surprised when she didn’t answer me. “I can tell that dress is giving you trouble.”

She turned her back to me, struggling to tie up the drawstrings at the bottom of her spine herself. On a normal day she would have gladly had me do it, but this morning was different.

“I can do it.”

“No.”

“It was only a suggestion.”

“You must be happy,” she scolded in a thin voice.

“Why would I be happy?”

“Because you finally got what you wanted.”

“Apparently not, since you are not speaking to me.”

She flicked her hair upwards and pulled it over her shoulders as she walked across the room. No eye contact was made when she reached for the brush on the table in front of me. “Sansa,” I pleaded. “We can’t carry this on forever. I thought you were happy last night.”

“I was.”

“Then, I don’t understand what has happened?”

“I am trying… but things keep getting in the way.”

“In your mind?”

“I can’t stop thinking about Arya,” she confessed. “How easily it was done. You saw how skillful she was with the sword.”

“That’s because she was caught off guard,” I informed her.

“What did that faceless woman tell you?”

“It was more of her asking questions. She wanted to know why I had done it.”

“And did you tell her?”

“I was reluctant at first, but I knew if I wanted to make it out of the room alive it was best to tell her. I think- I feel like she carried some level of guilt.”

“And you don’t.”

“I do, but not in that way. My only regret is hurting you.”

She took the brush and strung it down her long auburn hair. She turned away from me and walked past our bed to get to the window. Sansa used her free hand to open the drapes and was disappointed to find how grey the clouds were overhead. “I want us to be happy,” she relayed with some level of feeling. “But I don’t think that’s possible.”

“We can try,” I promised her as I watched her from my seat, feeling the distance between us was all to telling about the state of our relationship.

“I feel like- like I am a weaker person for letting you in my life.”

“Weaker?”

“Like I put less value on myself,” she lamented. “And it leaves me disappointed.”

“I would say it’s the opposite,” I countered. “The ability to stay with me shows how truly strong our relationship is.”

“Only because I allow it,” she rebuked.

“Then continue to do so. If you give this up, then what do we have?”

“My pride.”

“The pride of the Starks,” I sneered. “If you want to end up in the same place as your father than keep-”

“My father pride was not the means of him being executed by King Joffrey,” she interrupted. Her frosty blue eyes darted into my own with venom as she shrilled, “It was you!”

“I had a part in it, but-”

“It is always _but_ ,” she interjected. “Always an excuse.”

“I wasn’t making an excuse!”

“No, of course, it was a well-planned out reasoning.” She huffed into the air and made her way towards me as she added, “Just as it was when you tossed Lysa out of the moon door.”

“If it bothered you so much why didn’t you tell the Lords and Ladies of the Vale the truth?”

“Because I feared what they would do to me?”

“And you trusted me,” I added, and raised myself from my seat as I declared this testament.

“Trust isn’t the word I would use.”

“Then what?” I shouted, after she stood on the other side of the table in front of me.

“I wanted to keep you close, so I could use this information against you.”

“You are an excellent liar, but you forget that I am the one that taught you to lie so well. You wanted to keep me close but not for that reason.”

“You think there is another reason?”

“I know there is,” I darkly said as I laid the flat part of my hand against the table. “Why else would you give me that look after you lied to the Lord and Ladies of the Vale?”

“What look?”

I smirked at her and pushed back my chair so I could walk around the table and face her without any obstacles in the way.

“What look?” she repeated with worry after I finally faced her.

“The same look you gave me after you walked down the stairs in that startling black dress of yours,” I relayed in a silky voice. “The same one you gave me in the Tavern after you asked me if ale gave me courage.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied as her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink.

“You liked me all that time, didn’t you?”

“You are changing the topic.”

“I am continuing it.”

“No, you are making it fall into your favour like you always do.”

“See, this is why we are so well suited to one another,” I answered back in a rougher tone of voice, finding myself aroused by this tantalizing conversation.

“You just imagine us to be.”

I licked my bottom lip at her, wanting my hands to dig into the back of her scalp to pull her into a kiss. My gaze was heated, I could feel it, and I know she felt it too for she let out a sigh of indignation. “You’re impossible.”

I smirked at her without reserve, letting my eyes fall to her lips and then her unmarked neck.

“Petyr,” she warned, already sensing where my thoughts were turning too.

“Sansa.”

“Petyr, don’t.” Her words were helpless, already my hands were outstretched and hovering over the sides of her arms. _Oh, but I want her so much._ “Petyr.”

“You don’t know how long I waited for you to say my name,” I murmured from the back of my throat. My hands gave in and clutched the sides of her arms and I leaned in to kiss her lips ever so softly. I leaned my head back just like old times, catching the expression in her eyes to confirm my suspicions. “You are stronger than you know,” I assured her, and waited a moment more before I pressed my lips firmly against hers.

The rest is history, you could say. Her hands wrapped around the back of my neck and stroked it deftly, a small notion to show she wanted me to continue this venture. I opened my lips wide to enrapture hers, kissing her wildly the more she dug her nails into the back of my neck. _Oh, I am so glad she didn’t do up her dress all the way,_ I thought, and took advantage of this weakness to pull it down her frame to it wrapped around her hips. _If only we had more time._

“Petyr,” she cooed in a seductive voice, her lips hovering over mine as she looked into my eyes filled with desire.

“Yes, sweetling.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” I taunted, as I brushed the tips of my fingers down her spine in a wavy pattern.

“Maybe.”

“You do.”

“Its complicated.”

“It is,” I agreed, and leaned myself against the edge of the desk to take a better look at her. I let my hands rest at my sides, thought it clutched the fabrics of my pants from the desire that was sweltering inside of me.

“I don’t know what to say,” she relayed as she brushed her hands down her cold frame. “To do.”

“Stay with me.”

“I- I-”

“Stay with me,” I interjected with a serious gaze. “We can do this, Sansa, I know we can.”

She looked down at her black slippers, rotating her ankle nervously as she stood there shivering in the cold.

“I understand how you feel, but you are not weak for staying with me. If I was the man before I would fully understand why you want to leave, but I am different now. I know you see the change in me.”

“I do.” She took a small step forward with her hands clutching around the front of her frame. “You are becoming a father,” she explained and looked down at the small swell in her belly with a smile.

“I am becoming protective of you both.” I leaned off the table and went to my knees to look at her stomach at eye level. “You are like a winter rose, so very precious to me.”

“I thought I was your mockingbird?”

“You are,” I assured her, and kissed the clothed fabric over her stomach gratefully. “And so much more.”

She pulled my head into her stomach and kept me there, not wanting me to be away from her a moment more. _Oh, sweetling, if only you knew how truly preciou_ s _you are to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank you all for continuing to read this story. It started off as a personal project to prove D&D writing was weak and that I could do it better. The anger I felt against Lord Baelish's death fueled my need to write this story, and I am so happy you are here to enjoy the ride, or should I say climb. 
> 
> I can envision the end of this story, but we still have a ways to go. There a few more story lines that need to be wrapped up, and I am hoping to finish it all by the end of 2018. I have no idea how season eight of Game of Thrones can wrap up the entire story in six episodes, and I have little faith they will do it well. Call me pessimistic, but the death of Petyr Baelish pretty much ended my love for the tv show entirely. As for my fic, I shall warn you now to expect the unexpected. Nothing will go the way you expect it, so I only ask you read the rest of this fic with an open mind.
> 
> \- petyrbaaaeeelish
> 
> P.S. Feel free to state your predictions in the comment section below. I am intrigued to see how people will think this will all play out, especially if they've been paying attention to my foreshadowing.


	68. Unlikely Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Jon**

The moon held a pale shadowy light upon the land, while the snow blew past the forest floor like a white cloud of mist. The area was silent, and I felt in my heart that I was truly alone.

“Jon,” whispered in the night breeze, faint enough for my ears to catch it before it dwindled away. I perked up my ears and sniffed the air, burying my paw into the mounds of snow as I lowered myself to the floor. “Jon.”

The sound came southward, from an area I had no intention to go. I felt I should ignore it, but the voice called me all the same, louder and stronger until I was forced to rise on all four and scamper towards the faint tenor.

The sound came from a dark cave and when I approached it, I was amazed at how small it truly was, a mere nook in a sea of rocks. The snow was untouched in front of it, a sign that no living thing had approached the cave for some time. The world was silent, this mysterious dark forest around me grew still. The air was cold, biting into my thick furs and settling over my sheer white furs until I blended in perfectly into my surroundings.

“Jon,” the voice said with desperation, nearly echoing off the cave walls before it blew through the small entrance in front of me. The air grew colder suddenly, the icicles over my head shattering into pieces with the sound of thunderclaps. Something was coming, I could feel it in my bones, as the air grew so cold the snow over my fur was freezing in place. “He’s coming.”

I immediately ran into the cave with fear, and made my way through the pitch-black entrance until the fear dissipated into a sense of the unknown. “Follow my voice,” the deep monotone voice asked of me, and the sound alone lead me into deeper darkness. “You must hurry.”

The cave was long, despite its small size, and I found myself trotting across the rocky floor for a few minutes before I noticed a dim white light ahead of me. It wasn’t a natural light, like the dark amber from a fire, rather it was a piercing white light that glowed ahead of me for a few moments until I could see the source of this strange entity.

“Jon,” my cousin uttered with some level of recognition as I approached him before a great white Weirwood tree. “You have come.”

My eyes scanned the immense size of this tree, the way it glowed in the darkling cave like a great beacon of light. The branches curling over, desperate to reach my cousin and I. Bran hands were intertwined with the twisty bark of the tree, his small figure encapsulated by the ancient tree that easily towered over him.

A squeaking of a raven was heard overhead, and I watched it fly down and fall upon the floor in front of us. Black beady eyes stared at me, it tilted its head curiously before it hopped towards me. Instincts told me to growl, but the way the raven carefully approached me made me hold back.

“I came to warn you.”

I raised my head to look at the man who now wore a dark beard with long matted brown hair touching his shoulders.

“I am from the future, Jon,” he told me, as if he could sense my thoughts.

The raven flapped its wings and took to the air, flying over both of us before it flew into the shivering black shadows behind me. “I am keeping watch,” he explained again, in a low sounding voice. “We are safe here… for the time being.”

_Safe from what?_

“We haven’t much time.” A gust of wind blew down the cave and reached us as he uttered it. “And there is still some things you should know.”

_Know what?_

“The Army of the Dead are coming. The Night King leads them.”

_Everything I already know._

“He wants more than just an army. He wants to reclaim his own.” My paws padded towards him, ignoring the gust of wind that kept pouring into our small gave as a heed warning of what was to come. “He is a King, Jon, and just like any other ruler he needs a Queen to rule alongside him.”

_Like Dany?_

“It was the Age of Heroes,” he murmured. “At the Nightfort where the Night’s Queen was stabbed in the stomach by our ancestor, Brandon Stark, and defeated the others during the Fall of the Night’s King.”

_I thought she was a legend._

“You have heard of this before,” Bran knowingly said. I heard the voice of Ygritte echo across the tunnel walls as she uttered, “For thirteen years, he and his Queen ruled over his brothers, making sacrifices as black as their cloaks.”

The air stifled over into a breathless silence, and my blood red eyes lifted from the floor to face my cousin. “The Night King has returned, and he wants to reclaim his Queen. You must do anything you can to prevent this union.”

 _But that is impossible,_ I thought, _how is she still alive?_

 _He can raise her from the dead,_ I realized, and then wondered where she was.

“Sansa isn’t safe,” Bran cautioned me, knowing my thoughts all to well. “Neither is her child.”

_Her child! Sansa is pregnant… with who?_

“We must protect the Stark name,” he told me with a voice full of concern. “They are the only ones that can assure our name lives on.” He paused, letting his sable black eyes look over me curiously. “I wish you can see her, so happy with a little boy sitting on her lap; the carving of a direwolf wrapped around his small fingers.”

I felt a warmth trail over me, knowing that Sansa was finally happy. _I am happy for her,_ I thought, as I could almost hear the faint giggle from a little boy echoing off the rocky walls. It felt so far away, a sound from the near distant future. _Would I ever be able to see it with my own eyes?_

“It is time,” Bran said into the harrowing darkness. “Fulfill the prophecy the men whisper around you and defeat the Night King. Otherwise, our family name is in danger and everyone who lives south of the Wall.”

 _That means all of Westeros,_ I took in, and let out a sad breath at the realization. _This is more than just the North, all of our lives are in danger._

“I am trying to warn Sansa but she has trouble focusing. Too many distractions,” he grudgingly said. “There are things claiming her attention that I cannot see.”

_But you can reach me?_

“It is the eve of battle,” he informed me in a booming voice. “Your thoughts are clear, adrenaline pumping through your veins and…” A gust of wind stronger than ever before filled the cave walls, howling like a sweet melody of wolves that made me stand on all fours. “This might be our last opportunity to speak.”

_Why?_

_Because I might not make it?_

_Because something bad might happen to Bran?_

“You must win this battle,” my cousin warned. “For all our sakes.”

* * *

“If this is the last chance of having some ale I’m taking it,” the Hound gruffly said, before he swiped the small bottle from a Wildling’s hand. We were all hidden behind a boulder, while my other group of men were sheltered by a boulder next to us. The Hound jabbed his elbow into me as he uncorked the bottle, swigging it quickly into his mouth before he let out a short exhale. “It taste like piss!”

“More for me then,” Gregor jeered, and knocked the closed bottle out of the man’s hand so it could fall to the floor. “This here’s prized stuff.”

“It’s shit.”

“You southern’s know nothing.”

I rolled my eyes, and tilted my head to the left to see Davos still in deep sleep. _That looks like me not to long ago,_ I mused, and smiled at my wise friend who was catching a few more hours of sleep.

We had fled, taking to the forest before we climbed up this great mountain where we now hid. The wildlings heeded us with advice, telling us to take the higher ground. I personally saw no advantages to this when the Night King has a dragon.

“Ask King Jon if he wants some ale,” Gregor quipped, it was loud enough to claim my attention.

“Just call me Jon,” I begged of him.

“You lost the battle and now you think the title should be stripped from you. So true, you ran like a coward. Me dog would fair better in battle than you.”

“Your dog was mauled to death,” the Hound chuckled in a hoarse voice. “I wish I took his leg, so I can at least have something to eat.”

“Watch it! Or it be your leg we’re eating next.”

“Can the two of you be quiet,” I scolded. “Our voices will carry in the wind.”

“What does it matter? We are all dead anyways. They don’t have to eat or sleep like us, they just keep coming.”

“I say we fight the bastards,” the Hound countered.

“I saw we run for our lives,” Gregor argued back. “Have you seen the army? Aye, the fifteen of us are no match for that.”

“We need reinforcement,” I agreed, as I stretched out my frozen limps across the dense snow. I only wish I could feel some sense of feeling in my toes. “We need to get back to Dany.”

“She is too far away,” Gregor shot back. “Look how far it took us to just get to Long Lake.”

“There was was hundreds of us,” I reminded him. “We will move faster with a smaller group.” I pulled up the borrowed scarf over my chin to shield my neck from the ceaseless winds atop of this mountain. “With her dragons and the Dothraki army at least we stand a chance.”

“We should head there now,” Gregor advised. “My men have rested long enough.”

“Its been only a few hours,” I contemplated aloud. “Is that enough time to rest?”

We looked around the dim lighting that alighted the snowy white peaks of the mountain. The faint lemon coloured light fell upon the tops of my feet that was exposed by the early dawns of light, the only time we would probably see the sun today. Most of my men were fast asleep, crushing their bodies against the large grey boulders we found by pure accident as we traveled upwards.

“You are right, Gregor, we should leave this place,” I answered him, briefly recollecting the dream I had only a few minutes before. _I must remember Bran’s warning._ “Let’s wake everyone up.”

Snow fell from the cold misty mountains, piling up on our broad shoulders as we trudged to the right and left to wake every man up. It took some time, but soon fifteen men staggered upwards and circled around me with tired looking eyes. “We must continue to encircle this mountain until we are south, and then make our way back to Daenerys camp. The Night King is on our trail, so we will have to hurry.”

My men grumbled in ascension, and slowly gathered their belongings so they could go. We were fighting men, but we found ourselves fleeing for our lives. The army of the dead were heading the same direction as us, and a part of me feared they would come upon Dany before I could. I felt like time was slipping through my fingers, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

 _I have to get back to Dany,_ I told myself. _I need to protect our child._

I closed my eyes for a moment as I trudged through the snow, reaching for her somewhere deep into my soul to find her- I felt nothing.

_Something is wrong._

“You’ve been quiet, Jon,” Davos piped up beside me. “Still beating yourself up for running.”

“I was wrong for doing that,” I answered him gruffly.

“You were scared, just like the rest of us.” He patted me on the back of my shoulder fondly. “Who knew they had a dragon.”

“I should have.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed, knowing I didn’t have the power to see into the future like Bran.

“The quicker we get back to the Queen, the sooner we can figure this out.”

“I feel like something is off,” I confessed to myself more than him.

“What do you mean?”

“I just… feel it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he relayed to me, as he gazed to the side of my brooding profile. “You think she is in danger?”

“No, something worse,” I breathed, and instantly took longer strides forward to get ahead of the crowd. Something far worse than that.

* * *

I was trekking down the mountain with Gendry at my side when we noticed a change in the wind. We both ducked low at the same time as a shadow came over us for a moment. “Hide!” I cried out, and sprinted down the rocky steps until we could hide ourselves behind a small boulder. It barely covered us from the looming dark shadow that came over our heads again, the long wings of a dragon shattered across the pale white sky.

“Now, we are done for!” Gendry shouted out in a shaky voice, among the other panic shouts that echoed across the escarpment of this mountain. “How did it find us?”

“I don’t know,” grunted, as I motioned my men to lie down flat on the floor. “But it did.”

The dragon circled around us, but I noticed it was silent, as if it did not want to pose as an aggressor.

“Jon!” Ser Davos cried out behind me, I looked over my shoulder to see him crawling in the snow to get to me. His body deliberately brushed against the grey wall to not attract attention. I motioned him to hurry, while Gendry pulled out my borrowed sword to shield him from danger. “How the…” he paused, as he went on all fours to crawl the rest of the way to me. “... hell did he find us?” he panted while out of breath, and leaned his body against the boulder in agony.

“There are so many mountains,” I bemoaned. “I thought they wouldn’t have time to look through them all-”

“I thought they would be more concerned sending their troops southwards,” Gendry butted in.

“The Night King wants me,” I said with knowledge that was not my own.

“Then we better not let him have you.” Gendry nodded his head with determination, before he raised himself to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“Distraction,” he spat out, and suddenly took to the mountain trail to run down it as fast as he could.

Davos held me back, clinging to my arm for me to stay seated. “He is leading the dragon away,” he told me, and forced me to stay put as Gendry continued to run down the treacherous mountainside.

“Hey!” one of the Northerns called out behind me, which forced us both to look at the boulder farther up the mountain where our men were stationed. “Do you want us to follow him?”

“Stay where you are,” I instructed, and looked over my shoulder before I added quietly, “Davos, let me go.”

“You won’t run?”

“You have my word. Gendry is to far gone now.”

“Let’s get to the other men. We will have to explain what he’s done.”

“Not until that dragon is gone for good,” I shot back. “Its to far up for me to see it clearly but it must be Viserion.”

“The ice dragon,” Davos agreed. “The creature from hell itself.”

“There is no ice in hell,” I reminded him, after I brushed his hands off my bulky clothing. “The dragon is going further out, I guess its working.”

“I say we go now, while we still have the chance,” he urged of me, and pointed at the crowd of men a few feet away from me. “They look restless and scared, and men like that usually do something stupid.”

I got off the ground and sprinted towards them, aware I was seen in blind sight when I was cloaked in black from head to toe. I heard Davos loud breathing behind me, thankful I wasn’t alone before I slid into the pile of snow and landed right in front of my men. A burst of a roar echoed through the sky, forcing the snow above our heads to come crashing to the ground and landing on top of us. I covered my head with my hands, pressing it into my chest until the snowfall stopped.

“Fucking hell!” one of the Northerns cried, and I felt a large hand clap down on me. “You going to get us killed.”

“We’re dead already,” another Northern answered back, and pushed the man off me.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Ser Davos coughed aloud, as he patted the front of his chest with his fist. He was nearly indistinguishable in the pile of snow that settled on top of him.

“I thought you would be burned to bits,” Gregor laughed from the far end of the crowd, while his clansmen smirked at him. “Well done, Jon Snow,” he mockingly added. “You brought the wrath of a dragon down on us! I guess its better than turning into the others.”

“Over here!” was heard in the far distance, the wind carrying it around the mountain to deceive us from its true place of origin.

“That’s Gendry,” I said aloud, and turned my head in Ser Davos’ direction. “He is trying to get his attention.”

“Brave man.”

“Stupid,” the Hound jeered, as he raised himself to his feet to brush off the snow.

Davos laughed loudly before he shouted, “I always thought they were the same thing.”

"He is like his father," I said under my breath, before I raised myself to his feet as well. “We have to look for real cover.”

The shadow of a dragon flew over our heads, and I knew by the blackness of the shadow that I spoke too soon.

“Run!” one of my men screamed out, and we immediately scattered up or down the hill to escape the fast approaching dragon. I ran downward with Ser Davos at my side, the only ones brave or stupid enough to take this route while the others went upward.

“We’re not going to make it,” Davos groaned, and the second he uttered it, he tripped and began to roll wildly down the mountainside.

“Davos, stop!” I cried, noticing how close to the edge he was getting. “Stop!”

He flew down the edge, and suddenly disappeared from my line of view.

“No,” I breathed, and stopped dead in my tracks with disbelief. The shadow over me grew darker, a dangerous roar filled the air, so I sprinted down the mountainside in hopes that Ser Davos did not fall off the ledge completely.

“Give me your hand,” Davos barked at me, as he stretched out an open hand in the air in front of me. “I’m not dead yet,” he joked, though he was teetering over the side of a perilous cliff that could easily lead to his death. His legs was hovering over the edge, dangling like a star hovering over a clear night sky. Any wrong movement and he could suddenly drop.

“Got it!” I yelled out, and went on my knees before I pulled him upwards and towards me.

“Come on!” he cried out, after we heard a loud thump behind us like a large force crashing into the mountainside. “Jon,” he said with terror, and I saw by his face that something was behind me. “Pull-me-up!” he bellowed in a half terrified voice.

I went on one knee as I kept pulling and then lifted myself to my feet as I pulled him over the last of the edge. _That was close,_ I realized, once Davos rolled over to his back and coughed out blots of white air from his open mouth once he was finally on solid ground. “That was close,” he mumbled, and tilted his head upwards as he let out another cough. “Though it would have been better then this death,” he noted, and pointed at the looming shadow behind me. I turned my head to see the face of a dragon staring straight at me.

“Drogon,” I said with disbelief, and turned my body to fully face him. It felt like a knife in the dark, as I wondered if he was also under the Night King’s control. The slow tilt of the head in open submission told me I was wrong, and when he went down on all four I found my mouth wide open in surprise. “Lady Brienne?”

“Jon.” She looked back at the two people behind her, giving them a good once over to see they were seeing the same thing. Drogon grunted and shook his head tiredly before he settled it on the ground.

I took slow steps towards them, mindful of the crowd of men that were creeping there way down the mountain to see if it was truly safe.

“Bran was right!” Lady Brienne shrieked with delight. “We would find you.”

“You spoke to Bran?” I asked, as I laid a gloved hand over the fearsome creatures head. Drogon lowered the lids of his eyes in silence, restful under my protective touch.

“He sent us here to help you,” she explained. “All of us,” she added, as she noticed my face when I noticed the two men behind her.

“A Lannister,” I drawled out with annoyance, making my face grow sterner the longer I looked at the blonde haired man who slowly drew down his cloak.

“A friend,” he answered me, with a sympathetic gesture. “By orders of Lady Sansa.”

“How is she?”

“She is well,” Lady Brienne answered in his stead. “More than well, she is married.”

“With a child,” I reluctantly added, to the amazement of all. “Bran showed me.”

“And did he show you who she is married too?” Brienne bemoaned after she slid off the dragon.

“No.”

She turned her back to me to help Jamie Lannister climb down the horse. He stood uncomfortably close to her when he fell to his feet, letting his arm wrap around her waist as she steadied him.

“Petyr,” a voice called out from the distance, and a friendly wave caught my attention as I spotted a dark coloured man sitting at the back of Drogon. He smiled at me, more pleased with the news than the sight of me. “A well matched union, if I may say so myself.”

“So, you keep saying,” Brienne grumbled. She let go of the man in front of her and outstretched her hand for this stranger to take. “I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t believe what?” I asked, as I strode towards them.

“That marriage to Littlefinger is a good idea.”

Jamie spotted my sour expression, the way my eyebrows lowered over my dark eyes. _She married him? But I thought he was dead? Is it possible he is like me, and came back to life?_

“You don’t like the idea either,” Jamie observed. “Join the club.”

“I should get back.”

“Now, you are sounding like Brienne.”

“I have to protect her.”

“From her husband?” Brienne and Jamie asked me at the same time.

Ser Davos stood at my side, still breathing in deeply when he asked, “Husband? What husband?” His breathing stopped however when he caught sight of the dark coloured man joining our little circle. “You- you-” he stammered out with his hands pointing in the man’s direction.

“Brienne had the same reaction,” Jamie observed with boredom. “Yes, he is a red priest. No, he won’t use his powers for evil. He simply wants to find the Azor Ahai.”

“The Azor Ahai,” I repeated, and found strength in the words. “Who is that?”

“The Prince that was promised,” he answered me. “The one that will lead us out of darkness.”

“A prophecy,” Jamie added. “A very detailed one. If you have a little more than an hour, Parcelle would be happy to tell you.”

“I don’t have time,” I shot back, and ignored the ribbing on my side as Davos tried to get my attention. “What does Bran have to say to me?”

“He will never see us again,” Brienne replied soberly. “All of us.”

“We are worried,” Jamie admitted. “He refused to come with us.”

Parcelle took a step forward to add his own voice. “He has his own part to play in the coming war. Besides, it was he who controlled this dragon and used it to find you.”

 _How did he know where I am,_ I wondered, _but then again how did he contact me in my dreams._

“I think he will go into hiding,” Brienne noted. “Or he will die, but I feel he may be the one to outlive us all.”

“I second that,” Jamie assented, and positioned himself unreasonably close to the towering lady again.

“And did you see the other dragons?” I asked. “Dany?”

“Nothing in sight! We flew over Wolfswood and then over the mountains. I think Bran wanted to avoid the Kingsroad entirely.”

“He knew the Night King is there,” I mused aloud. “Then we are safe for now. Too bad we all can’t fit onto Drogon's back… I want to find Dany.”

“Dany,” Jamie mockingly repeated. “Has a dragon and two armies at her back. I am sure she is perfectly fine.”

“And so are we,” Ser Davos piped up with his hands on his hips. He cleared his throat irritably before he croaked out, “You wouldn’t happen to have any food, would you?”

Jamie smirked at the pair of us before he uttered, “You’re lucky Parcelle here is a good cook.” He reached over the side of Drogon and pulled out a large sack before he threw it into my arms. “Enough food to satisfy your aching bellies.”

I stepped into their space with a look full of gratitude before I outstretched my arm to Jamie’s chest. “Thank you,” I breathed, and waited for his golden hand to be placed in mine. We shook our hands in good terms, and then I turned to do it to the others.

“I heard a lot about you,” Parcelle joked, as we walked back to the crowd of men.

“Good things I hope.”

He smirked at me, and then looked away to hide the rest of the smile. “You can say that,” he laughed, and slipped his hands behind his back as we walked the rest of the way.

Somehow I felt it was quite the opposite.

* * *

“Oh course, my sister planned to deceive you all,” Jamie explained, as he huddled himself closer to the fire. “She used the gold I took from the Tyrell’s to pay for a foreign army from Essos… the Golden Company. With such an army she can easily defeat her enemies, including the Starks.”

“And you think she will succeed?” I asked him, after I took a long sip from the Wildling’s ale.

“I think she will tear Westeros apart.”

“Daenerys had the same idea not too long ago.”

“Those women are more alike than they realize,” he contemplated aloud. He let out a small sigh before he fell into Brienne’s side, curling up to her with a certain familiarity I had not seen before. “If you want to win this war, you will have to find a way to not only defeat the dead but the Golden Company as well.”

“Is Sansa aware of the danger?”

“Very. My brother, Tyrion, was heading to Winterfell to assist her. He knows my sister’s way of thinking and might find a way to stop her.”

“Petyr…” a soft voice prompted up, as Parcelle squatted over the ground in the small space between us. “Will know what to do. If I could put all my faith in one person it would be him, there is no one as clever or ingenious as Petyr Baelish.”

“He is clever,” Jamie agreed with a dark expression. “But I wouldn’t put any faith in him. And I don’t like how powerful he has become.”

I nodded my head at Jamie grudgingly. “He holds Winterfell now.” I turned my head to the foreign man that was currently grinning when I added, “The entire North.”

Ser Davos who was sitting on my right quietly finally joined the conversation “Aye, but your still King.”

“I am.”

“Then…” Parcelle drawled out in a smooth voice. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Lady Brienne grunted in his direction, narrowing her eyes at him until his smirk subsided. “What are your plans?” she asked me, with a surprising level of straightforwardness. “Drogon is still injured and can’t carry a lot of weight on his back. How many men do you have here with you?"

“Fifteen!” Davos quickly answered for me. “Drogon won't be able to carry them all.”

“We intend,” I bellowed out in a voice loud enough to attract my men’s attention. “To head southwards to get to Dany’s encampment before the white walkers do.”

“And fight them?” Ser Jamie asked of me. “Presumably.”

“To fight.”

“How about you take the most important people to fight with you, and the rest can make it down the mountain on their own,” the knight suggested. “It will be faster that way.”

“I don’t want to leave my men behind.”

“Why?” he inquired. “Because of honour’s sake?””

“Because we are in this together.”

“Then you put Queen Daenerys at risk,” he pointed out. “She will be ambushed by an army and a dragon, from what you told me. Wouldn’t it be better if she knew what to expect?” He curled his feet inwards until he sat cross-legged in the snow. “We are both tactile, military men. We know what it is like to win a war, or lose one.” He paused for emphasis, letting his light blue eyes study me to detect my inner thoughts. “I think you should find her before it's too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

Ser Davos cleared his voice before he uttered, “Only if you want it too.”

“I will think about it,” I told them, and raised myself from my feet. “I’m going for a walk.”

_I need to think._

I threw my hood over my head and trudged upwards, taking the windy path that would lead me up the mountain. It was noon, the sky was ghostly white with a faint stream of light casting over the land. From my view I could see the rows of mountains still ahead of us, an array that would take us days to make our way around. I wondered if it was foolish taking this path, but it would be even worse if I took the Kingsroad like the rest of my fallen men. I wondered what happened to the hundreds of them that fled in battle, or the swarm of men that were encircled by Viserion as the Night King’s army slowly approached them. _They became one of them,_ I mused, and felt a painful feeling in my stomach knowing it was all my fault. _I should have been stronger. Where had my courage gone at that moment?_

I had thought the Night King wanted me, but standing here alone on this mountain I was sure of it. _I have to warn Dany,_ I thought, _and defeat the others. Otherwise, this long night will never end._

“I hope I’m not intruding,” a small voice mentioned behind me, and the lingering accent that accompanied his voice told me it was Parcelle. “You seemed so deep in thought.”

“You are, but its fine,” I gruffly replied, while maintaining my gaze on the far distant mountains.

“I feel great energy from you.”

I looked over my shoulder to see that his hands behind his back, a somber expression that told me he was gravely serious. “Ser Davos told me you were dead and came back to life.”

“Yes.”

“The Red Priestess did this for a reason.”

“She did.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“I have a role in this war,” I drawled out in an annoyed voice. “No one tells me what that is exactly.”

“I brought Petyr back to life, but it is only for after the war. Everyone has a role to play.”

“And what is yours?” I asked with a bored expression.

“To aid the Assor Ahai. I want to help him in the battle, and end the Long Night.”

“How?”

“The Lord of Light will show me when its time,” he replied quietly with his eyes downcast to the floor.

I turned around and walked towards him. “If you really do have a role to play then you had better come with me,” I told him, after I laid a hand over his broad shoulder. “You may shed light on this dark mystery that keeps surrounding me. And if I should die… maybe you will bring me back.”

“Only if R’hollor deems you worthy of it.”

“If he raised me once, then maybe he will do it again,” I quipped, and patted him on the shoulder before I led him down the snowy trail.

“I have heard what that Red Priestess did and believes she has been led astray,” he told me while his eyes intentionally scanned my profile. “Sometimes when we have immense power we can use it unwisely.”

“Like being a King?” I suggested.

“Or Queen,” he countered. “As some men believe when it comes to your wife.”

“My wife makes her own decisions,” I relayed in a low tone of voice. “But I try to make her choose the right ones.”

“Tyrion has said those words as well,” he relayed with a look of profound knowledge. “And so many others before you. I have heard of Daenerys Targaryen long before I set foot on Westeros. She is famous everywhere!”

“All the more support then.”

“She has enemies as well,” he noted. “And the things she has established in foreign lands are slowly falling apart. A dragon can strike fear and obedience in people, but what happens when they are no more? The power is only temporary.”

“Power is always temporary.”

“You speak from first hand experience?”

“I was a bastard. and now I am a King. How many people had to fall before I could obtain this title?”

“Many?”

“Enough,” I grumbled. We were approaching my crowd of men that were huddling close to the fire when Parcelle stopped me. “I think you should know that Sansa will be safe. Many have a bad opinion of Petyr, but he will ensure no harm comes to her.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Its what I know,” he murmured. “He _loves_ her.”

“And does she love him?” I asked with an obvious show of disgust.

“Yes.”

I said nothing, only kicked up a pile of snow in front of my feet before I charged down the mountain without him.

* * *

Gendry and I were sitting in silence away from the group. He had his legs dangling over the edge fearlessly, his hands resting behind his back as he leaned his head back to catch most of the sun's rays. With eyes half closed he let out a small puff of air from his lips, letting it swirl around in front of him before it fell from our line of sight. "What's wrong?" he asked me, while his eyes continued to stare out across the distant mountains. "You've been quiet."

"Have I?"

"You have," he noted in a serious voice.

"I'm wondering whether I should leave now."

"What is holding you back?"

"My men," I told him with a circumspect look. "What will I think if I left them?"

"They will be more than happy to know you are finally off their back," he joked.

"I am sure they would."

"You think leaving them would make them think little of you?"

"I think I would lose their respect," I told him honestly.

"You came from nothing and now you are their King," he relayed in a emotionless voice. "If you fear losing their respect, than you need to rethink things."

"What do you think I should do?"

"Fight."

"And leave them?"

"Do what you need to win," he replied, after he turned his gaze back to the vast mountain range. "Or there won't be anyone left to protect."

"I'm taking Parcelle," I told him. "And Davos."

"But not me," he drawled from the corner of his mouth. "You can say it."

"I want you to lead the rest of the men that are left behind."

"Because I am a Baratheon."

"And a natural leader," I quickly replied. "Or soon will be."

"You just want me to survive for a little while longer."

"You would be next in line to the Iron Throne," I mused aloud. "If something should happen to Dany and I."

"Maybe," he muttered. He stroked his long brown hair away from his forehead as he answered, "Not sure if I want too though."

"Who does?"

"Cersei," he taunted. "She can have it! All I want is to be a blacksmith again."

"Then you'll get it," I assured him, and slowly rose to my feet. "I will have the Hound be your second in command."

"We are not an army, Jon," he argued back. "But I appreciate the help."

I clapped my hand into his thick glove and patted the outside of his forearm in a friendly gesture. "Here's hoping I will see you again."

"You will."

It wasn't until our hands released that we heard a roaring of a dragon overhead, echoing across the distant plains of the mountainside and finding its way to were we stood. Drogon, who was not far behind me, lifted his head and let out a harrowing roar in reply. I felt my clothes blow away from my cold limps at the sound, feeling the hot breath of Drogon traveling to where we stood. Gendry caught my arm and moved me backwards as Drogon stood to his feet, twisting his neck around as he shook himself from his sleep. "Jon," he uttered with concern, as the dragon before us stood tall and mighty like the dangerous creature he was. "We should go."

"Stay still," I urged him, and gave him a look of warning before I turned my gaze back to the great beast. "He can sense your fear."

"Why is he getting up?"

Drogon flapped his wings slightly, letting the air rush across the leveled ground before us. Snow gusted upwards and flew at our faces, until we were forced to pull up our hoods and cover our ears from the freezing cold temperatures that flew at us with each flap Drogon took before he levitated into the air slightly. "He better not leave," I threatened, and took a few step forwards with my hands outstretched before him. "Drogon!"

The beast answered me in kind, letting out a fearsome roar before he blew a blaze of fire into the air over our heads. A similar call came from the far distance, shrill and loud enough to make Gendry and I turn around to catch the creature that was making that sound.

"Rheagal?"

A rush of air came over me, forcing me to bend down into the snow as Drogon flew just over my head and dipped low over the mountainside's edge. _He's leaving,_ I panicked, and took to my feet to sprint after him. "Drogon!" I called out, but it was too late, he had already took to the sky again and was flying off to the distant horizon.

"He's leaving us," Gendry breathed out with a look of sorrow. "Our only chance of escaping and he is gone."

The screeches of Drogon echoed across the endless array of mountains before us, finding a way to the spot at which we stood. _Where is he going,_ I wondered, as I watched the distant black figure move further and further away. _I am a Targaryen and I can't even control a dragon._

Ser Davos came running towards me with a group of men. "What happened?" he yelled out, as he approached Gendry and I. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I shot back, as I watched the men surround me until I was standing in the center of their circle.

"You had to do something," one of the Northerns argued back. "The dragon wouldn't just leave."

"Well, he did," I answered him back with respite. "And I'm not sure if he is even coming back."

"Jon," Davos said with concern. "What really happened?"

"We heard something off in the distance. It sounded like another dragon, but I'm not sure."

Gendry stepped into the center of the circle to stand beside me. "It sounded like one."

"I thought it was Rhaegal."

"Rhaegal is with Daenerys," Ser Davos mused aloud. "You think she is nearby?"

"I don't know what to think."

"I say we stay on guard tonight," he advised me. "Have a fire going, and keep an eye out for those white walkers and... Daenerys... just in case."

"She wouldn't leave her army," I reminded him.

"I'd say the same thing about you, but then again we both know what happened yesterday afternoon," he taunted. "Its funny what fear does to you, eh, Jon?"

"Makes cowards of us all," I droned, and nodded my head at the group of men before I took my leave.

"He'll be back," Ser Davos reassured me, though I wouldn't be lying if I admitted it fell on deaf ears. _I'd be lucky if he ever came back,_ I thought, _or make it off this god forsaken mountain alive._


	69. The Fallen Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Davos**

I can still remember what it was like to serve under Stannis. The black and red streaming banners gloriously flapping in the northerly winds as we marched towards Winterfell. I was so sure of our victory. Funny, isn’t it? How fate had other plans.

 _My sweet Shireen,_ I thought, as I looked over these ancient ancestral mountains. _We are the only ones foolish enough to hide here,_ I deliberated, _but I suppose anything is better than having the same fate those men suffered in yesterday’s battle._

I was still perplexed with the idea of Jon running- a fear stricken man galloping on his horse towards the hills because he couldn’t keep his men’s wits together.

_Stannis would have cut off his men’s balls if that happened._

_He died in battle though, so I wonder who is wisest. The man who ran towards war, or from it?_

It was late in mid-day and Jon was still missing. His need to separate himself from his comrades showed he was still mentally in a the state of despair, a nervous notion that he may be unfit to rule as King. Drogon’s appearance had given us hope, but now that it was gone, what did we have left?

_Fear and uncertainty._

I bundled myself more as the cold wind rose from the east. I was so tired of this cold, so tired of the aching feeling in my bones and limps as the temperature continued to drop.

 _Why am I here,_ I wondered, _how did I manage to be a counselor for one King to another?_

 _And will they have the same fate,_ I fretted, and looked over my shoulder to see how the large crowd of men were fairing. The fire we managed to build was nearly out, and now the men sat close to each other enjoying the small morsel of bread and cold ham that our visitors shared with us.

Lady Brienne was the only one I trusted out of the three. In my opinion, a Kingslayer had no business here, even if he was sent by the orders of Lady Sansa. As to the man draped in red, I would rather him fall of the mountainside than be here. All I could picture was the chary, timid face of Shireen, a small girl that was my responsibility to protect and I let her down.

I lost so much serving these men: a finger, a son, a girl who I cherished like my own daughter, and I was starting to fear what I would lose next. _My life,_ I feared, and began to wonder if those men over there felt the same way.

I rose from the ground and leisurely made my way over to the small circle, before I sat down beside the large feet of Lady Brienne. “Tell me about Winterfell,” I asked of her. “It’s been too long since I have heard any news about the North.”

“You should be asking Parcelle,” she noted, and pointed at the man not far from me that was staring into the flames. “He was there last.”

“I’ll have no business with men that see visions from fires,” I barked out, and stuck my gloved hands deep into my pockets sullenly.

“I have seen the things they have done, watched my King die by the hands of Stannis’ shadow, a dark magical force crafted by the Red Woman. Believe me when I say I want her to pay as much as you,” she warned with a stiff upper lip. “But Parcelle is different.”

“How?”

“He just is.”

“Very well, but I still want you to tell me any news you heard about the North. I’ve been so isolated, it would do me nice to hear some good news.”

“It depends on what you think is good.” She paused when Ser Jamie readjusted himself on her lap, moving his head slightly with the lids of his eyes closed to show he was in some level of deep sleep. Her voice was quieter as she added, “I know why she sent me away now, Lady Sansa, that is. She wanted Lord Baelish to come back… I only hope she won’t regret it.”

“You think she will?” I asked of her, knowing very little of this man that caused so much concern amongst my comrades.

“I think she underestimates his power,” she exclaimed with a depth of feeling. “She wants his counsel, but she forgets how easily he can turn the tide to his favour. I was there when the two of them were traveling north; I saw them at a tavern, making eyes at each other, its no wonder they declined my help. Still, I am sure there were many times that Lady Sansa regreted it.”

“Why?”

“Because he gave her to the Boltons,” she stated with an air of certainty. “And hightailed it out of there before she could change her mind. Littlefinger will always be Littlefinger.”

“And Sansa will always be Sansa,” I reminded her. “The girl is smart. I think its _her_ you shouldn't underestimate.”

“I don’t,” she told me flatly. “I only worry.”

We both stared into the fire absently, letting our thoughts form for themselves. I knew very little about this Lord Baelish, but from what I know about the Starks, Sansa can take care of herself.

“I made an oath,” Lady Brienne uttered into the gloomy silence suddenly. “To protect Sansa and to take her brother, Bran, to the Wall. I failed in both ventures.”

“I thought Bran sent you away?”

“He did,” she confessed. “He was most vocal about it.”

“Then you are released from his oath.”

“I made to his sister, not to him. I worry what she will think of me when she finds out the truth.”

“That you did the best you could,” I assured her with a leveled gaze. “Or do you think you could have done more?”

“I think I should have never left him.”

I saw a figure rising from the crowd and quickly making their way over to me, it wasn’t until I saw the familiar smirk on Gendry’s face that I knew he wanted to address me. “Davos,” he quipped, with a sneaky little smile. “Have you heard Jon wanted to take you instead of me? And you thought I was the favourite. Where is he, anyways?”

“Jon?”

“Yeah, I saw him walking up the mountain after Drogon left, and that’s the last I’ve seen of him. Been almost an hours now, hasn’t it?”

“I’d say so.”

“Think I should go after him?”

“If you wish,” I drawled out with indifference. _If it was up to me, I’d let him be._ “I think you’ve done enough for today.”

“When I ran,” he laughed out in good humour. “I thought it was worth a shot, didn’t work though?”

“Only made a fool of yourself,” I quipped, as I joined in with his laughter. I always liked Gendry, he was different from the others- brave and smart, and a will of his own. _A true Baratheon._

“And I didn’t even get a thanks,” he said with his voice filled with sarcasm.

“Jon hasn’t been himself lately, so I wouldn’t worry. He has a good heart, but I think it controls him too much.”

“Aye, some would argue it makes him weaker.”

“Depends on the person,” I suggested with a disgruntled look. “Maybe we should go find him.”

“I’ll go,” he rapped out, and stood to his feet quickly to show his determination. “You watch the men, you are the only leveled headed person here right now.”

“I only pretend I am,” I cunningly replied, and gave him a small smile before he turned away from me. _There will always be friendship between a Baratheon and Stark,_ I mused, and felt some small comfort at that.

Tiny blue flames flickered in the smouldering pile of coal, the last of the fire was dying away with the noon day sun. I wasn’t ready for the darkness, another cold night to remind me of the places I used to call home. I was never meant for snow and mountains, it was the frigid laps of the cold blue sea that called my name. _I should have never left my ship,_ I thought, _or the life I was meant to lead._

The men were getting restless, talking among themselves of where they should go next. The Wildlings and the Northerns were in a disagreement, the old tensions were starting to rise and bubble over the surface. It felt like I was in Castle Black again, when we only had Ghost to keep the enemies out of Jon’s old chamber room. _This isn’t good,_ I noted, and stood up tall to overlook the men before I made my way over.

“I say we leave now, while we still have the chance,” one of the Northern’s argued. His long ginger coloured beard made him distinctively different from the rest of his men. “What is there to fight for now?”

“He’s right,” a smaller man replied next to his shoulder. “How are we supposed to defeat the white walker’s without an army of our own?”

“We join with Daenerys’ army,” Gregor shot back. “You say you are loyal to your King and now you want to run.”

“I want to live,” the smaller man replied in a curt tone of voice. “And I’ll live longer if I leave now.”

“You will be called a traitor,” I butted in, feeling the need to have a say as well. “And could even be executed for treason.”

“For wanting to survive?”

“For abandoning your King!”

“For being a fucking cunt,” the Hound bellowed, as he rose himself from the ground to tower over us all. “If you want to leave- then leave,” he threatened with a harsh grimace.  
The man stood to his feet and shifted back and forth uncomfortably between his right and left foot. He looked to the five Northerns that were with him, seeking affirmation before he straightened his back and exclaimed, “I’m leaving.”

“Now, let’s rethink this,” I urged.

“We’re leaving,” he corrected, and brushed his hand over his nose nervously until his men raised themselves to his level.

The man with the ginger beard picked up his sack full of clothes and armoury and threw it over his shoulder to show his resolve. “He’s a bastard,” he spat out. “And always will be.”

“He’s a Targaryen actually,” I corrected him, knowing Jon wouldn’t be pleased that I shared the news. He can only keep it to himself for so long. “And a Stark, so by birthright he has the means to execute the five of you where you stand for treason. You know the laws, and it is your legal right to serve your King.”

“A King who can’t even keep himself together,” the smaller man criticized.

“A man who needs all the help he can get,” I implored. “I think you should stay.”

The men looked to each other, all seemingly confused to hear the news that Jon was in fact a Targaryen. The secret was out, but how much would it change the tide? Would Jon win support because of this knowledge, or lose it?

“We will stay for now,” the smaller man replied for all of them. “Though it would be wiser to leave now, and head southwards. There is no way the white walkers can bring the cold that far south.”

A deep voice behind us rang out, “How can you be so sure of it?” I turned around to see Jon and Gendry walking side by side, the two of them looking more somber than ever. “If the Night King has the power to break down the Wall than he can go anywhere he pleases. We have to find a way to stop him, and the only way we can do that is if we stick together. I know… I have let you down…” he paused and shook his head regrettably. “But I am here to tell you that I came back to life for a reason, and whatever it is, it has something to do between the Night King and I, so I won’t give up yet- not when we are so close.” The crowd of men were silent as he strode towards them, his hands in the air as if he could touch every man for added reassurance. “I was told the only way the Night King was held back the first time was when the Northerns and Wildlings fought back together. We can do this, but I just need you to believe in yourselves. Will you do that for me?”

“You are the King in the North,” I declared with pride in my voice. “We will follow you always.”

“Then keep a watch for Drogon,” he instructed. “I have a feeling he will come back.”

“Because you are a Targaryen?” one of the Northern’s sneered.

“Because my cousin can warg into him,” he assured us. “And I know he wouldn’t leave me on this mountain to die.”

* * *

Jon was right; Drogon returned to us with the setting sun, but this time he brought his brother, Rhaegal, and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms on his back.

We all bowed low on our knees as she settled down from her dragon, standing proud in front of us all like the true Queen she was. Her husband stood before, currently lost for words, and by her disquieted look she felt the same way. Only the soft roars from Rhaegal and Drogon could be heard across the mountainside. I stood next to Gendry, noticing how concerned he looked as he caught sight of Ser Jorah Mormont, the tinge of red over his cheeks as he looked down at the lovers. _Something is not right,_ I felt, a basic instinct that made me glance between the three of them.

“You found us,” Jon observed, his voice cold and absent of feeling. “How?”

“Drogon.”

“But you left your army,” he sadly relayed.

“I have no army.”

“The Dothraki,” Ser Jorah piped up loudly to claim the royals attention. “Turned on us, and tried to kill Khaleesi.”

“It was Rheagal,” she explained. “He grew hungry and ate our horses.”

“So, the Dothraki are all gone,” Jon cut in, with a look of pure venom.

“All.”

“And what of the Unsullied?”

“I sent them to Winterfell to help your sister.”

“We need them here!”

“I thought it better to send them there, but that was before the Dothraki turned on us. If it wasn’t for Jorah I would have never made it out alive.”  
_Jorah,_ I realized, and thought the familiarity and tone of her voice simply betrayed her. _She cares more for him than she simply lets on._

“So, you save her life once again?” Jon asked jealously.

“He is my knight,” she answered him with a prideful air.

Jon sniffled from the cold, dragging his glove hand underneath his nose as he grunted loudly to himself. “I want to talk to you alone,” he sulked, and waited for her to stand by his side before he led the way. It was curious to see how estranged they were, so beaten down by everything now that their armies are gone. _They are powerless and they know it._

Ser Jorah idly stood beside Rhaegal, stroking its scaly wings in a meditative manner. It was Lady Brienne that approached him, and hushed something close to his ear. He seemed to smile at her words, letting long lines stretch across his pale face as his eyes shined beautifully at her. The tarnished knight, Jamie Lannister, was quick to follow suit and voiced a few quip’s here and there to get the aging knight laughing. I looked over my shoulder to see Jon and Dany walking down the mountainside and based on their body language they were in a heated argument. Gendry had left my side to make a few jokes at the couple's expense to Clegane. Left alone I watched and waited, a man of my years knew I could learn a lot by simply watching.

“You see its helpless,” one of the Northern's argued behind me, presumably talking to the other soliders' from his native land. “You heard it yourself. Her army is all but gone.”

“If the Dothraki can leave, why can't we?” one of them rebutted, and I could tell by their lowered voices that they were conspiring something gravely. I looked to the left of my shoulder to see the Wildlings were doing the same thing, all standing in a line giving each other careful looks.

“You are attentive,” a voice said behind me, before Parcelle's head barely reached my shoulders as he stood next to me.

I scrunched up my lips as I gave him a hardened look. He was the last person I wanted to speak too right now.

“She's smaller than I expected.” He pointed at the couple down below that were slowly raising their voices, despite their best efforts not too. “The Mother of Dragons.” He turned his head in my direction deliberately as he asked, “They don't look happy do they?”

“No.”

“I know a man who would be happy to hear that,” he said more to himself than to me.

“It’s a disagreement,” I reluctantly uttered. “Nothing more than that.”

“Nothing more?” he almost laughed.

“It sounds like you’re almost pleased with it.”

“No, no,” he kept repeating with half a smile. “I find it interesting. If you could only know the amount of rumours that surround the two of them. Why, they are probably the two most powerful people upon the land, and look at them…” He wore a smug as he gazed at the angry couple, now raising their voice loud enough to attract the dragon’s attention. Rhaegal raised himself up, brushing past Ser Jorah as he padded his scaly feet against the snowy ridge to get to his mother.

“This isn’t good,” I muttered, noticing how the ground shook with each step Rhaegal took. Instinctively, all of the men walked backwards, distancing themselves from the rattled creature that was currently letting out hot black steams of air from his nostrils.

“He can sense her anger,” Ser Jorah yelled out to Lady Brienne as the three of them ran from the cliff’s edge to get to a fortified wall for protection.

“Will it hurt Jon?” I asked, as he briskly walked past me, following the rest of the crowd that was making their way to the large boulders. We knew something was wrong, the high-pitch squeals from Rhaegal proved it. Drogon responded in kind, flying from the sky and landing at the peak of the mountain with its golden eyes barreling in Jon Snow’s direction.

Gendry took out his leant sword and held it in front of his chest, his right knee lunged forward as if he was ready to sprint to Jon if necessary. _What use will a sword be to a dragon,_ I wondered, though I pulled out my sword as well.

Parcelle took a step forward, since he was the smallest of our group. Peaking over the boulder he happened to breath out, “So, he responds to his mother’s emotions. Interesting.”

“My only concern is will Jon get hurt,” I rapped out, and nudged him over so I could have a better look as well. Rhaegal was pacing himself around the two of them, breathing hot air from his mouth towards Jon threateningly. Drogon in turn, glided down the mountainside and landed on the ground just behind Rhaegal, letting out a snarl before it nudged the side of his brother away from the couple. “I think he is trying to protect Jon.”

“And why would you think that?” a gruff voice asked me from behind, the faintness of his northern accent told me it was Ser Jorah Mormont.

“Why else would he push Rhaegal away?”

“If Jon was smart…” Ser Jamie Lannister piped up. “He would back down and let her win this argument.”

 _He is too stubborn for that,_ I contemplated. _Once he set his mind on one thing its hard for him to change it._

Rhaegal positioned his face in front of Jon, using his snout to push him away from his mother. Jon gave in easily, taking a few steps back with his hands in the air with open submission. His wife looked absolutely furious, and the way she dug her hand into the side of Rhaegal’s neck put me on edge. _One word alone and she could easily set him on fire._

Drogon was quick to respond and angrily flapped his wings, it was clear a fight was about to commence, and I was afraid what would become of us all if it did. “We should hide,” I advised.  
  
“And go where?” one of the Northern’s asked, clearly exhausted by the day’s events.

“Anywhere but here.”

Daenerys took a step forward with her hands gliding down the length of Rhaegal’s head as she shouted out, “How is this my fault? I was trying to save your family-”

“Without my permission.”

“I hadn’t heard from you in two months, what did you expect me to do?”

“Do as we planned and lead them here?”

“What, so they can flee like the rest of your men?” she shot back. “Did you even try to fight them?”

“You weren’t there!” He brushed past Drogon’s protective wing as he yelled out: “We were outnumbered, and the Night King had Viserion under his control.”

“I told you!” she screamed back. “Begged you that we all go together, but you were determined that I stay behind. Look what it cost us!”

“I did what I thought was right.”

Parcelle nudged me on the side of my shoulder and whispered, “This is going nowhere.”

“This is embarrassing,” I added. “Look at us, hiding behind these boulders because we are afraid what the dragons will do to each other.”

“It doesn’t help that Drogon is still controlled by the Three-Eyed Raven.”

“What do you mean?”

“The boy still wargs in him.” He pointed at the threatening looking dragon kneeling just beside Jon. “I’d be more worried for Rhaegal if I were you.”

_Things are going from bad to worse._

Rheagal suddenly nipped at Drogon, sending a shiver squeal throughout the mountainside and echoing off the rocky wall just behind us. Drogon bashed the side of his head into Rhaegal’s body, which sent him backwards. Daenerys was telling them to stop, but her cries were useless to the red hot anger seething through both of the dragons at this point.

“Drogon,” Jon implored, raising a hand in the air in front of the dragon’s snout. “Stop.”

The dragon seemed to submit, its bright golden eyes stared at him plainly before he moved away and took to the sky. Rhaegal was quick to follow, both roaring at each other as they plummeted down the mountainside.

“Look what you’ve done!” Daenerys cried out, flaying her gloved at him as if she was weary of his presence. “You nearly had my dragons attack each other.”

“None of this is my fault.” She shook her head at him vainly, and threw her hood over her head before she walked away from him. “Dany!”

She ignored his calls and trudged her way through the deep snow until she met the hoard of us hidden behind the two grey boulders for protection. “You can come out now,” she said with ill humour, while her eyes glazed over us bitterly. “I would never let my children hurt you.”

“Khalessi,” a voice said behind me, and I felt a strong arm brush me aside until Ser Jorah stood in front of her view. “May I walk with you?”

“Come,” she ordered without fully looking him in the eyes. She motioned him with her hand to follow, and we watched them walk up the hill until they were out of our line of sight.

“Well,” Jamie laughed, with his hand covering his forehead with dismay. “I never expected a day quite like this.”

“You think this is bad, wait until you see tonight,” Gendry joked, and pushed himself out of our tightly closed circle to comfort a grievously looking friend who was currently sitting in a heap of snow.

“Things will look better in the morning,” Jamie assured us, before he took leave with Lady Brienne’s hand in his.

I felt another nudge on my shoulder, a thing that made me suspect it could be only one person annoying enough to do that. “What?” I asked through gritted teeth, not even bothering to look down at the small person beside me.

“You are taking this hard.”

I stroked my beard as I stared out into the far distant horizon, watching the two dragons fighting amont themselves in the open air. Nothing to serious to cause me concern, but enough to show it reflected the present marital state between Jon and Daenerys.

“You expect to much from your King.”

“And you so little.”

“I have faith in another man,” he told me with a whimsical smile. “And a woman too.”

“And what about your god?”

“I have the greatest faith in him. R’hollor will show us the way. You must not despair. The long night is coming, but in the end… there is always dawn.”

I nearly laughed at him, hating the irony when a rosy sunset was in plain view. “I only see dusk,” I mentioned from the corner of my lips, not using enough strength to open my mouth fully.

“You only see what you want to see.” I felt his presence leave me, and when I turned around to watch him, Parcelle was already settling his things down for the night.

“Dawn,” I repeated into the open air, and found it best to follow him, so I could hopefully get a good night’s rest as well.


	70. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once heard all the best plays have three acts, so here it is.  
> With all of the ups and downs,  
> here's to hoping I make something beautiful.

**Daenerys**

I removed my gloves and placed my bare hands in Ser Jorah’s. He held them tightly, letting his cold fingers rub against the back of it. “Khaleesi,” he murmured low with a look full of feeling. He knew how I felt, the glossiness to my pale blue eyes betrayed my true emotions. He let one of his hands fall away to wrap his long arm around my back, pulling me forward until there was no space between us.

“He makes me so upset,” I gushed out bitterly, pressing my mouth into the front of his shoulder blade miserably.

Jorah soothed his hand down my back, letting a natural silence stretch out between us.

“I don’t know what to do,” I wailed. Jorah dug his fingers into my back, letting it bury deep into my skin for an extra sensation to my muddle nerves. “Tell me what to do, Jorah.”

“You are the Queen.” He let his hand rest over my back in a still motion as he added, “I know you will decide what’s best.”

“I almost gave the order for Rhaegal to attack him.”

“I know.”

I bit down on my lip, closing my eyes annoyedly as I shifted my head downwards until it was buried into his chest. _If anyone should see us,_ I worried, but thought it was only natural for my loyal knight to be comforting me.

“You are exhausted,” he observed, after he let both of his arms encircle my tiny frame.

“I’m- I’m fine,” I lied, and lifted my head upwards to face him. “You are making it better.”

Jorah gave me an ardent stare full of feeling, letting it last until I let my eyes fall downwards to his chin. “I almost wish we never came,” I confessed. “It was easy… just you and I.”

“It was.”

“You regret coming here, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Jorah,” I entreated, and patted my small hands over his chest to get him to reveal the truth. “You know you must always be honest with your Queen.”

“I am.”

I smiled at him, squinting my eyes slightly with delight before I shyly lowered it away. “What were you arguing about?” he quietly inquired.

“I want to go back to Winterfell and find whatever forces we have left-”

“To fight the white walkers?”

“Yes, and to use any resources we have available to us. The Unsullied-”

“-were given to the Starks to protect them from Cersei’s army,” he interjected. “You won’t take them back… will you?”

“We have to ask ourselves what is more important.”

“And that is where you both disagreed?”

“Jon wants to face the Night King right away.”

“With no army.”

“With my dragons.”

“So, you can lose them to the Night King as well,” he said in jest. I tilted my head to the right, studying him to see the level of sarcasm Jorah was using. With his face so close to my own it was tempting to kiss him, at least for old time’s sakes. We were in a different setting now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have any feeling for him still.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Talk to him again. Once things have settled down. I am sure he will come to his senses-”

“-and if he doesn’t?” I cut in.

The corner of his lip went downwards, creating a dent in the side of his cheek as a dimple slowly formed. “Then you… must…”

“What?”

“Do whatever you feel is right,” he mumbled out with some reluctance. “You have come this far on your own, I have every confidence you will do well.”

I raised myself on my toes and pecked his lips quickly, lowering my face before he could silently ask for more. “Thank you, Jorah,” I breathed, and lowered my feet to the ground until I was at my small stature again. I could feel his heated stare on me, but I was determined to look away and make my way back to camp.

“Will you sleep with him tonight?” he asked with uneasiness, once we walked side by side together in our familiar manner.

“Considering we just had an argument-”

“I never meant it that way,” he quickly interjected. “I only meant… will you want some company?”

“Do you think that’s wise,” I teased, noticing the way he leaned into my shoulder deliberately to close off the last of our space.

“I won’t do anything.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

“Dany,” he pleaded, and took a hold of my hand to slow me down. “You know I still care for you, even if you are with someone else.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“If you think I’m just going to cast you aside, then you’re _wrong._ ” I tilted my body to face him, letting my eyes linger over his visage before I uttered, “I’m at a crossroad, Jorah, and I’m not sure what to do. I’m in love with two people at the same time.”

“Only one is right for you,” he quickly replied, without fully thinking it through.

“Maybe.”

He stared at me in silence, letting his eyes say it all. He wasn’t exactly displeased with me, only frustrated with our present situation. There was sounds of men laughing below, a sign that were closer to camp than we both expected. “Dany,” he pleaded with saddened eyes, while he raised my hand to his chest.

“You would love me to the end, wouldn’t you?”

“To the end.”

“I only wish I could say the same.”

He looked pained by my confession, but still retained a leveled gaze. “Jon-”

“-I don’t know how I feel about Jon either,” I interrupted. “I only know I care for you _both._ ”

Jorah was about to open his mouth when he noticed something behind me, and instantly his eyes darkened with envy before he forced his gaze away. “Dany,” I heard from behind, and turned to see Jon and Gendry watching me from a distance. “Can I speak to you?”

“Have you come to apologize? Or are you too proud for that?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Save it for another time.”

“Dany,” he entreated, as I walked past him at a brisk pace. He reached to grab a hold of me, but Jorah strategically put himself in the way to prevent that from happening. “Dany,” Jon yelled out with annoyance, but I ignored him and led Ser Jorah back to camp with me.

“Set up my bed,” I told him, knowing Jorah secretly liked when I told him what to do. “And put your bed close to mine. I will need protection tonight.”

“Yes, Khalessi,” he quietly replied, with his head directed to the ground as he quickly spread out blankets and sheets for me.

I knew he was watching me when I walked to the cliff’s edge, taking in the light red and tangerine glow that hovered over the horizon. Fortunately for me, no one was brave enough to approach me, so I had some time to get lost in my own thoughts. _What do I want,_ I asked myself, _what is the best decision for me?_

By the time I returned to the dwindling fire where most of the men were stationed, I had a clear mind but no answers to my present problems so far. Jorah was quick to hand me a cup of mulled wine, brought by Jamie Lannister, which he apparently stole from one of the houses he was residing at when he and Lady Brienne were traveling northwards.

The men talked quietly among themselves around the fire, already the coal black sky was hovering over our heads to signal the coming of night. I moved myself closer to Jorah, probably sitting to near him for most people’s tastes, but with the bitter wine wetting my palate I couldn’t care less.

“Would you like some ham, your Grace?” Ser Davos asked, after he took a seat beside me. He handed me a towel stuffed with cold, hard bread and a thick layer of ham nuzzled in between it.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I only wish I could offer you something more fitting.”

“It’s delicious,” I politely replied, and took a bite out of it to prove it. “Jorah. Have some of mine,” I offered, and broke the bread in half to hand some to him as well.

“Forgive my manners, I forgot about you, Jorah.”

“It’s fine,” he stated with a slight nod of his head.

“So… Jon and you….” Ser Davos shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “You think things will get better?”

“What do you mean _better?_ ” I asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Things will work out, and we will all be off this mountain and heading home.”

“And where is home?”

“I don’t know,” he timidly replied. “King’s Landing for you.”

“I would have to destroy it first,” I dryly replied, before I took a large bite into the frozen piece of bread.

“And Cersei’s army.”

“There are too many enemies, and so little time,” I grumbled. “Luckily, there are alliances across Westeros that are willing to help me.”

“And your marriage to Jon Snow will ensure that,” he slyly replied. “He is well loved by his men.”

“So, I’ve been told.”

“You did well to marry him.”

“I would say the opposite,” I mumbled under the rim of the cup. Jorah showed his silent support by leaning into me a little more, taking me by surprise when he slid his arm just behind my curved back.

“An argument should not lead you to second guessing your marriage.”

“No, it only reassures it,” I shot back angrily. “And you can tell that to Jon, since I’m not speaking to him.”

Ser Davos cleared his throat uncomfortably before he raised himself from the ground and slowly strode away. “Dany,” Jorah chided under his breath, covering his mouth with the cup of wine hovering over his nose.

“Was I wrong?”

“I wouldn’t have spoken so freely to _him._ ”

“Ser Davos is nothing but an onion knight,” I quipped, and pulled my snow-white hood over my head more before I leaned into the back of his arm. “I thought all of my anger is gone, but then it comes out again.”

“It will pass,” he hushed, making sure he made no eye contact when he spoke to me, as we were being watched carefully by Jon’s men.

“You know what happens when I’m angry.”

“I do,” he said in a hoarse voice, and shifted his legs leisurely until one was crossed over the other.

“I don’t think I should have anymore of this wine,” I realized. “Would you like the rest?”

He stretched out his free hand and laughed quietly to himself as he poured one cup into the other until it was nearly filled to the brim.

“You will behave, won’t you?” I asked him nervously, as I watched him take a long gulp from the wooden cup. “With all that wine in you.”

“Yes, Khaleesi.”

“Then… I wish you a goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he answered me sullenly, and left his seat to return the wooden cups to their original owner. I watched him engage in some kind of conversation with the Hound on the other side of the fire, and when it was apparent he wasn’t coming any time soon I decided to get some sleep.

* * *

I must have a good night’s rest, for when I awoken, I found Jorah an arm’s length away from me. He was covered entirely in blankets, but I knew the tall stature of his so well, it was only second nature to shift forward and pull down some of the blankets to see him fast asleep.

The first gleams of dawn were appearing, and the entire campsite was silent, only the breathless winter air rustled past our heavy cloaks and blankets to reassure us that winter was truly here.

I reached my hand forward and stroked the soft beard Ser Jorah was currently growing, letting my cold hand rest on the side of his cheek before I pulled it back. _How odd it is to care for two men at once,_ I pondered, and felt slightly guilty that I was in this current predicament. _It wasn’t fair for either of them, and the fact that I was carrying Jon’s child made things worse._

_But I do not care for Jon like I did before…_

Jorah’s legs stretched outwards, and soon the lids of his eyes batted tiredly before he opened them completely. A large smile stretched across his face, a look full of peace came over him the second his eyes locked onto mine. I bit my lip at him pleasantly, happy to see the immediate change in mood as he stared at me. “Good morning,” I murmured low, soft enough for only him to hear.

“Khaleesi,” he answered me, before he pulled the blankets off the back of his head and nestled it around his collar. “Did you not sleep?”

“I just woke up.”

He yawned into the blanket, closing his eyes tiredly before he laid his head back on the makeshift pillow. “I dreamed of you,” he voiced aloud unexpectedly. “So, I slept well.”

I found a warmth traveling over my belly, creating a profound yearning to reach out and touch him.

He noticed the look in my eyes and smiled secretly to himself. _He knows…_

“I think it was the wine,” I taunted, wanting to end the wave of temptation that was coming over us both.

“The wine, Khaleesi?”

“It made you look so happy. You never smile, you know?”

“I don’t,” he chuckled. He rolled over the flat stretch of snow until he was on my side of the bed, leaving only a small margin of space between us. “Only for you.”

“Are you trying to seduce your Queen,” I shot back, and rolled my eyes at him in the hopes it would deter him from going any further.

“No.”

“It sounded like it,” I confessed, hating the way the lids of his eyes squinted at me playfully. “I think you should go back to your end of the bed.”

He looked over his shoulder, taking in the abandoned piece of cloth he had left behind only a moment ago. “This one is more comfortable.”

“Jorah,” I warned, and scoffed at him loudly before I pulled the blankets over me entirely.

“As my Queen commands,” he drawled and shifted backwards until he was at his original spot. _He is trying to draw me in, but I won’t let him._

 _And what does he hope to gain by staring at me,_ I wondered. I pulled the blankets over my face completely and found some level of piece before I heard some shifting in front of me. “Jorah?” I asked, once I peaked over my blankets to spot him pushing his own away from his body.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“What?”

“To stretch my legs. I am cold.”

“Do you wish me to come?”

“If you wish.”

I found myself pulling of my blankets as well and outstretching my hand in the air for him to take. “Help me up,” I ordered, which earned me a small grin from him. He pulled me up effortlessly, catching me mid-air with one hand promptly supporting my lower back. I fell into his chest, probably by his own design, and found my breath caught in my throat by such a heated glare. “Thank you,” I hushed, and quickly looked away from him as I took a step back. “Where did you intend to go?”

“I’m not sure.”

“We’ve been up, so maybe we should walk down the mountain.”

“Are you…” Jorah paused to lower his voice completely. “Planning to escape?”

“With you?” I questioned with a knowing look. “You should know by now, I won’t go anywhere without my dragons.”

“Then you must be happy they returned,” he noted, and pointed upwards where the two of them were resting on the west side of the cliffs.

“I am.” I caught his hand and tugged him in the opposite direction he was currently walking. “Let’s go see them instead.” Jorah gladly let me lead him upwards, always liking the way I took charge of everything. _And that is the difference between him and Jon,_ I mused, _one will support me unconditionally while the other challenges me to be better. Which one do I prefer?_ “Jorah,” I spoke aloud, and waited for him to look at my profile before I continued. “If I did something wrong, would you tell me?”

“I would.”

“Even if you knew it would anger me.”

“I would tell you, but I want you to make your own decision.”

“Even if it was wrong?”

“Yes,” he answered me, as he rested his hand over the hilt of his sword idly.

“Why?”

“Because I know you will make the right one,” he replied truthfully. “And if it is the wrong one… it is still your decision to make.”

“So, if I ordered my dragons to burn all of King’s Landing, what would you think?”

“I would support your decision.”

“Or to abandon this post and let Jon fight the Night King on his own?”

“On his own?”

“It is simply a question, Jorah, it doesn’t mean I will do it.”

“But- but,” he stammered out awkardly. “You considered it.”

I leaned against the rocky mountain behind me and looked over his shoulder to see the endless peaks of mountains that spanned the countryside. “I don’t understand how I am supposed to protect the north and the south!” I spat out bitterly. “Everyone wants my support, but they never consider what I want.”

“You want the Iron Throne,” he simply replied.

I nodded my head at him, directing my gaze to his pale blue eyes that were intently watching me. “I do.”

“Then take it.”

“From Cersei?”

“Cersei,” he repeated without ever moving his lips.

“What about Jon?”

“Tell him.”

“That I want to leave him to take what is rightfully mine.”

“His,” he corrected me.

“It should have been mine… it still is.”

“It belongs to you both.”

“Only one person can sit on the Iron Throne,” I argued back. “And I’m not sharing it with him, or anybody else for that matter.”

“Have you told him that?”

I crossed my arms tightly across my chest as I glared at him. _Why is he even asking me this?_

“I think its something he should know.”

“Are you defending him?”

“No, but you asked me to speak freely to you, so I am.”

“I don’t want you defending him!”

“I’m not,” he answered me with a shadow of a smile.

“Jorah,” I threatened, which earned me a short burst of laughter from his side. I turned away from him and walked up the rest of the snowy trail, knowing full well he would follow me all the way to the top.

“You won’t help him then?” he called out, after some distance came between us.

I looked over my shoulder and halted my steps until he was by my side. “I never said that-”

“- you implied it,” he cut in.

I sighed in his direction and turned away, so I could mount the steep cliffs of this mountain again.

“Or am I wrong?”

“You’re wrong,” I chided. “I have no intention of leaving Jon right now.”

“But you will later.”

I cut my eyes at him, realizing he knew me more than I had originally anticipated. “I will stay with him,” I drawled out, and purposely looked away so he wouldn’t see the lie that was hiding in my eyes.

“I think going to Winterfell is a good idea,” he pointed out. He directed his gaze away from me to see the rising head of Rhaegal, who sensed our presence, and was pleased to see us up so early in the morning. Rhaegal reclined his head forward, urging me to stroke the harsh, scaly skin at the side of his head before Ser Jorah joined in as well. “You may get a sense of the what is truly happening in the North. A letter from Lady Baelish can only reveal so much.”

“You think she is hiding something?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he contemplated aloud. “I think you will gain more insight on Westeros as a whole if you-”

“- go there,” I finished for him. “You are right.”

He brushed his hand over mine deliberately, before he continued to stroke Rhaegal’s head fondly. A second passed, before I lifted my hand to cup his shoulder blade and bring him forward for a kiss. He took it gladly, leaning into me to silently plead for more, but I couldn’t… not now, at least. “What was that for?” he asked low, as he watched me lean backwards and onto Rhaegal’s neck.

“I don’t know,” I confided to him with a half-embarrassed look.

“I only wish you would do it again.”

I swallowed hard, a tinge of regret passed across my face as I forced my eyes away from him. “Someone could have saw that.”

“I know,” he drawled out with meaning.

I took a few steps away from him, making sure my back was to him as I went around to greet Drogon as well. He growled low as I approached him, making me half suspicious of this creature that turned its dark golden eyes at me. “Drogon,” I scolded, after I laid a hand on the side of his head. “Behave.”

Drogon lowered his head silently, but I could sense a quiet rebellion within him. Rhaegal turned his head in my direction, probably thinking the exact same thing, for he rose himself high off the ground with his wing’s half suspended in air. Ser Jorah was also on guard, quickly forcing himself in front of me to create a barrier between Drogon and I. “Jorah, you needn’t-”

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, and held my right hand tightly as he steered me backwards.

“Drogon would never hurt me!”

“Are you certain about that,” he said under his breath, steadily leading me away from danger until I was on the other side of Rhaegal. “He was protecting Jon yesterday.”

“They have a bond, that’s all.”

“A bond that would make him turn on his own mother?”

“He wasn’t turning on me,” I rebutted.

“Then explain to me why Rhaegal nipped him on the side yesterday,” he countered. “Or positioned himself to protect you right now. I’m telling you, Dany, there is something not right.”

“You think Jon is controlling him.”

“I think there is something off.”

“I will speak to him.” He caressed the side of my waist worriedly, leaning into my space with a skeptical look in his eyes. “I will be fine… I promise.”

He leaned forward to kiss the side of my cheek, pulling his head back quickly before he would want more. “You will need to speak to him.”

“I will.”

“Okay.”

“It will be fine.”

He glanced over Rhaegal’s protective wing, which he spread out to the fullest extent, ultimately shielding us from anyone’s view including Drogon. He leaned in to kiss me briskly, letting his hand glide through my loose hair before he stepped backwards. “Go,” he urged me, and rested his hands on his hips to prove his determination. “Before I do something I regret,” he joked, with the top of his teeth piercing the inside of his lower lip. I took his meaning and left him, keenly aware of the uneasy growls going back and forth between Rhaegal and Drogon.

* * *

It was no surprise that Jon was standing over my bed waiting for me. Arms tightly crossed, and him as still as a statue foretold the argument to come. “Where were you?” he snapped.

“I went for a walk.”

“With Jorah,” he guessed aloud, and looked down at the empty bed beside him for confirmation.

“He is my knight,” I insisted. “I need to be guarded at all times.”

“Then why isn’t he with you now?”

“He is taking care of Drogon and Rhaegal,” I explained. “For some reason, Drogon wants to _attack_ me.”

Jon looked half guilty, eyes darting off to the side as if a thought hit him. “I think he is still being warged by my cousin,” he confessed. “I don’t know why he would want to harm you though.”

“And who gave him the permission to warg my dragon?” I cried out in anger, probably waking the whole camp up with my accusation.

The sunlight hit his face suddenly, and he covered his face with his hands as he answered me: “He is trying to help us-”

“- by taking control of my dragon,” I interrupted.

“I never gave him the order to do it.”

“But you’re not stopping him either?”

“I don’t even know how I would contact him,” he retorted, as he tilted his head to avoid the brightness of the sun. “And Bran wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“No?” I demanded and stared at him with a look of disbelief. “You better hope you’re right.”

“Dany,” he sighed, not liking the bitterly cold look in my eyes as I crossed my arms at him. “Why are we even arguing? I came here, so that we could talk.”

“About what?”

“We need to decide what to do. Every day that passes means my sister’s life is in danger, and everyone else for that matter. We need to stop the-”

“- let’s head to Winterfell,” I cut in. “Find reinforcements and meet the Night King’s army head on.”

“But that puts the people’s lives in danger,” he moaned. “We can’t let them get that close.”

“You faced them in the open field, and you saw what happened. This time we will have the Northerns and the Unsullied, and if I’m lucky… the Dothraki.”

“You said they are gone.”

“Most of them, but others fled. I think I can bring them back to my cause, but I will need more time.”

“I think it’s better to face the Night King now,” he maintained.

“Do you hear yourself?”

He squinted his eyes at me, hardly believing the words that came out of my mouth.

“I lost Viserion trying to save your life. I am _not_ losing another one.”

“I will be more careful this time.”

“More careful, Jon? More careful,” I shrilled out with anger. “Its your cautiousness that put us in this mess! No, I am not facing the Night King without an army at my back.” I stepped in front of him with my hands at my side, tightly clinging to my long white cloak as I proudly declared, “I am Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of her Name. The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, and I will _defeat_ the Night King. We are going to Winterfell, and we will gather forces to defeat him once and for all.”

Jon scrunched up his lips but chose to remain silent. “Wake up your men,” I commanded. “We leave before noon.” I turned away from him, not wanting to spend another minute in his presence. “Choose four who will accompany you. The rest can find their own way home.”

I never waited for his reply, it was better that way. I took to the slippery slopes, and climbed my way upwards hoping to receive some of Ser Jorah’s noble counsel before we departed for good.

* * *

We had been flying above the frozen swamps of Deepwood Motte for sometime before we turned eastward, and made our way to Wolfswood. There, hidden among the blanche white trees we spent a few hours resting and replenishing ourselves with food. It was there that Lady Brienne and Jamie Lannister told stories of Bran and his eccentric behaviour that gave them more cause of alarm than a young man should. They were familiar with this area, a thing I was grateful for as I had Ser Jorah stand guard along the edges of this secluded hill.

Jon had been ignoring me since we landed, and to be perfectly honest with myself it hadn’t bothered me one bit. There was a strain to our relationship, but the cause of it was so varied I did not know where even to begin. My dragons were tired, the hours of flying with men and women on their back was taking their toll. Drogon and Rhaelgal were now huddled together, trying to retain some warmth.

“More ham?” Parcelle asked me out of the blue. It was the first time he had ever addressed me, and I was taken back by his foreign accent and entreating look as we stood there alone beside the ancient ruins of a stony wall.

“You are from Essos?” I asked him in his mother’s tongue, which earned me a smile of surprise.

“You speak it?”

“I speak many languages, as I rule even beyond the Seven Kingdoms.”

“So I have heard.” He motioned his hand upwards and inquired, “Ham?”

“The bread is hard as a rock.”

“The ham is still good.”

“I grow tired of ham.”

He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed the slab of meat into his mouth. “I grow tired of an empty stomach.”

“I am curious as to why Jon chose you to accompany us.”

“That is something you should ask him.” He brushed his fingers down the length of his sleeve before he pulled the woolen gloves over his hands again. “I am just happy we are heading back to Winterfell.”

“You are?”

“I have a friend there, that I would like to see.”

“Another worshiper of the Lord of Light?”

“Hardly,” he laughed. “I don’t know who he worships… maybe himself.”

A haunting breeze blew past our backs, making us grow silent as the cold chill went down our spine. I felt safe with Parcelle, oddly enough. He was the same height as me with a smooth, rounded face; his eyes looked like they could tell stories, and I wondered what he would tell.

“I've been told you are a Khaleesi,” he began with an inquisitive look. “Anyone who has the power to rule the khalasar has the power to rule anyone.”

“They were my blood,” I relayed with a saddened voice.

“I am sorry to hear that they are gone.”

“It is my fault. I should have been stronger. I should have trusted my gut,” I stammered out. “Lady Tyrell was right… Jorah was right… I am a dragon, and its about time I start acting like one.” I raised my head with dignity and stared at the moon that was peaking its way through the clear blue sky, it was not time for it to come, but the moon came all the same. “I never realized till now how weak I can be with Jon,” I confessed aloud. “If he did what I had said, this war would have been over by now.”

Parcelle looked away from me, obviously not knowing what to say. _I made him uncomfortable._

“You won’t repeat what I had said?”

“No, your Grace.”

“I shouldn’t have said it-“

“- but you did,” he professed with an honest look. “You are not the only one second guessing everything.” I noticed how he looked over his shoulder to see Ser Davos and Jon conferring together a few yards away. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.” I left him on the top of the hill and walked towards Jon, knowing I couldn’t put off what I had to say any longer. “Gather your stuff. We are leaving,” I commanded in a stern tone of voice.

“We need more time to rest.”

“We rest when are behind the high stone walls of Winterfell.”

“We've been traveling all day,” he reasoned. “Haven’t we come far enough?”

“No.”

“Your Grace,” Ser Davos said with hesitation. “It is not wise to travel after dark.”

“I don’t believe I gave you the authority to join the conversation, _Ser_.”

“Forgive me, your Grace.”

“Davos has a point,” Jon argued from the back of his throat. “It isn’t safe”

“I know my dragons! I will tell you when it is or is not safe!" I shot back. “You have ten minutes. Tell your men, or I am leaving without you.”

I strode away from them now, heading to Lady Brienne to relay the same information in a softer tone of voice. _Jorah is the last one to tell,_ I realized, and climbed upwards and to the right until I met him at the peak of the hill where he stood. “Do you see anything?”

“Rocks and trees,” he relayed with his back to me. “But it reminds me of home.”

“You miss it?”

“Everytime we get a little closer my hope rises.”

“I can undo it, you know. You can have your home back and be Lord once more.”

“I don’t deserve it,” he murmured with his hands stretched out to enrapture me. “But thank you, Khaleesi.”

I leaned into his embrace, quiet forgetting we were not isolated from prying eyes. “You do.”

“I have been too long in exile. It wouldn’t be right to enjoy that regal lifestyle. I have better things to do… like serve you.”

I held my breath, using every willpower I could muster to not get any closer to him. Jorah could sense my conflictions, and released his hold of me. “Thank you,” I said for the both of us, and took a step further back to widen the gap between us. “We are going, are you coming?”

“We are leaving?”

“Yes.” He rested his hands over his hips, making him look larger than he was. “Do you disagree with my decision as well?”

“No.” He shrugged his shoulders at me. “I was just wondering why so soon?”

“I want to keep moving. And besides, being that high up helps me think.”

“About what?”

“You are full of questions today?”

He raised an eyebrow at me playfully before he dropped his hands to his sides. “Then we should get back, or else Jon will come looking for us.”

We were walking in unison, side by side when I piped up, “You make things obvious when you avoid Jon.”

“I thought he was avoiding me.”

“People will talk.”

He looked left and right before we entered a darker part of the forest. “They are already talking.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you keep looking in my direction.”

“I don’t!” He laughed as he bent low to avoid a long tree branch that hung in the middle of the pathway. “I don’t.”

“I am not convinced.”

“Jorah,” I scolded, before he turned around quickly and landed his lips on mine. “I didn’t give you permission to kiss me,” I sheepishly fought back as he hovered over me in the darkness.

 _Why must he be so annoying,_ I thought, as he led me back to camp. _I didn’t want to go back,_ I suddenly realized. _I wanted to stay here- with him._

He released my hand once we walked through the forest entrance way; Parcelle was the first to spot us and quickly made his way over. “Your Grace wishes to leave now?”

“Yes, are you ready?”

“What? I am, but?”

“Is everyone else ready?” I demanded. “You are going on Drogon, yes?”

“I am, but-“ His words were cut off, for I walked past him and strode towards Rheagal who was already standing alert and waiting for my command. I patted him fondly on his side, while Jorah walked past me to gather our things.

The rest of our party took their time coming, but soon we were all climbing on the back of our dragons in preparation to leave. Jon was the last to return to camp, he looked haggard and disgruntled as he walked past Drogon to approach me. “Dany, this is foolish! We are tired. Let us have a good night's rest-“

“We’ve rested enough.”

“I don’t know why, but lately you seem determined to disregard everything I say.”

 _Only because you are wrong._ “You are wasting time, Jon.”

“What is the hurry?”

“Do you want me to leave you or not?”

He glowered at me hatefully, and then turned his gaze to the man that was seated behind me. “Jorah! Tell her I’m right.”

“You are wrong,” he drawled, and I felt his fingers dig into the sides of my waist as he uttered it.

“Brienne?” he asked in desperation, to the last person sitting on Rhaegal's back.

“I would feel safer at Winterfell… for your sister's sake.”

He sighed under his breath, and gave us all a look of disappointment before he walked back to Drogon.

I tilted my head to the side slightly and whispered, “You are wrong,” to the man behind me.

“He is,” Jorah rebutted.

“You just had to take my side.”

His hands smoothed the side of my waist affectionately, enough to make me grip at Rhaegal's horns for some level of self control. _Its now or never,_ I thought, before I called out "fly" in the Dothraki language and Rhaegal immediately took to the air. Drogon quickly followed, and soon the pair of dragons would be flying eastward home. Or so I thought…

Hours had past, and in the dark eclipse of night we happened to stray somewhere near Kingsroad. And in that darkness we did not see the enemies far below, but they did…

A harrowing cry screeched through the air, a burst of blue light ignited the sky underneath us and immediately Jon drew his dragon towards the flame.

From this eminence I could see rows of men lining up in an endless array, their bodies spread out across the flat plain and I thought I could count them to the thousands.

I stayed up above, to frightened by the scene to engage in the tactical offense that Jon was currently undergoing. _How many of them are down below,_ I wondered, _are there even more than last time?_

Drogon's sharp hiss drew my attention, and I watched him glide through the air spewing flames over the white walkers in an endless stream.

“He is going to get himself killed,” Jorah grumbled, which pulled me back to the present moment.

“And my dragon!”

“Jamie,” Lady Brienne panted from behind. “What if something happens to Jamie?”

“We need to pull out this attack and come back when we have reinforcements.”

Jorah leaned into the back of my shoulder and whispered, “This is suicide."

“Then we better stop him now.” I leaned forward and motioned Rhaegal to dip downwards; we plummeted down in the chilly night sky, nearly nose diving until we got on Jon's level. Rhaegal positioned himself beside Drogon, probably sensing what I was about to do for he let out a low growl of warning. “Jon, stop!”

“He's here,” he screamed into the wind.

“You’ll kill us all!”

“I have too.”

“Don't be stupid, Jon,” Jorah warned in a tired voice.

“I see him in the front of the line. We could end this right now!”

“Jon,” I pleaded, but he dug his foot into Drogon to make him go faster. We were both whizzing through the sky, hovering over the white walkers as we both raced towards the front. I knew I had to stop him, but it was nearly impossible when he had other people on the back of Drogon. “Jorah!” I called into the wind. “What should I do?”

“You have to stop him.”

 _I'm going to regret this._ I dug my foot into Rhaegal, stirring him to the left until we crashed into Drogon. The dragons snarled at each other, Rhaegal using his bottom claws to scratch at the back of his brother as Drogon tried to get away.

“Jon!” I was yelling out, but it was no use, he had Drogon slip through and dip lower to the ground until they landed right in front of the Night King.

“Pull up,” Jorah warned into my ear, and I gave the order for Rhaegal to levitate higher, remembering the last time I let my dragons get to close to that mysterious King.

From the far distance we saw the Night King raise his hand, and under the pale moonlight we watched his entire army stand still. Drogon let out a fearsome roar, twisting his neck wildly before he let out a burst of fire from his open mouth. The Night King closed his fist and we heard a heavy thumping on the ground, and it was then that I realized he was calling his ice dragon.

“Daenerys,” Lady Brienne called out. “We have to get them out of there.”

A low moan escaped Viserion, he heavily trotted on the ground with his tail swaying so hard it knocked the white walkers off their feet. He was coming in fast, and whether Jon wanted this or not it would soon become an all out war.

“We will have to fight,” I exclaimed, and turned around to see Jorah's concerned look under the cool moonlight. “And I don’t want too.”

“Then don’t.”

“Drogon,” I said with distress. “Jorah, I can’t lose another.”

“You already lost him, Khaleesi, he no longer responds to you.”

I turned away from him, leaning over the side to get a better look at the scene playing out beneath me. I knew the Night King spotted me high up in the air, but fortunately his javelin styled weapon couldn’t reach me. His dragon could…

Jon let out a battle cry as he dropped from Drogon's back, drawing his sword out immediately as he charged towards the Night King. For all his bravery, he was unaware how the white walkers quickly surrounded them, creating a circle until the two dragons and Northern King's stood directly in the middle.

“We need to get them out of there,” Lady Brienne repeated. “You don't understand-“

“We do,” I interrupted. “I am sorry about Jamie, but I can’t put Rhaegal's life at risk.”

“Oh, god!”

“If there is an opening I will take it, but the way things are going… they are already gone.”

Jon let out another battle cry, and we all looked down below to see him running at the Night King. A clamor vibrated in the still air, their swords collided, and then the sounds went off again as they both fought with their weapons. The Night King's moves were stealthy, hardly any movement was used at all to defend himself, and Jon's slow and rash movements made him look weak in comparison.

The fight went on, Jon continued to slash his sword against the Night King's own, but with every hit it took more energy out of him. Finally Jon took a step back, breathing heavily, and then after rethinking everything he began to backpedal to Drogon for a quick escape. His enemy knew what he was doing, and motioned for one of his men to draw out a silver crusted javelin from his abandoned horse.

“Go!” Jon shouted to Drogon, and waving his hands desperately so it could leave him. “Leave!” he cried out in desperation as he turned around and started to sprint for his life. He staggered downwards and crashed face first in the snow; Jon lifted himself up helplessly and tried to run again, knowing full well that his enemy was right behind him.

“Lord of Light!” echoed in the darkness and a brilliant flame struck the air as Parcelle lifted his weapon high above his head. “Show us the way.”

By this point one of the white walkers caught up to the Night King with the javelin in hand; their armour glimmered in the moonlight, reflecting in white silver and icy blue. The scene below was most horrifying to watch: Jon sprinting the rest of the way to Drogon, his men screaming for him to hurry, Parcelle striding towards Jon with a blazing sword in hand, and then the unthinkable happened, his sword ignited with a sheer white light that almost glowed in the darkness once Jon grabbed the hilt from him. “He is reborn,” Parcelle declared, and kneeled in the snow before his King. Jon looked confused, but also determined. He sent everyone away, kicking Drogon on the side so he could leave. He took one last look up to the sky as though he uttering a silent prayer, and I noticed how his eyes lingered on the spot where Rhaegal and I hovered in mid-air.

“Dany,” I could almost hear him say, like the very first time, and then I felt a faint shiver in my heart as though I had been pierced.

“Khaleesi,” rang at the back of my head and I felt Jorah's strong arms catch me before I fell of Rhaegal completely. “You are unwell! We need to get away.”

Drogon lowered his wing for Parcelle to climb up it, and then let out a breath of fire towards the white walkers that were closest to him to make an opening in the circle. Once freed from his imprisonment, Drogon's claws dug into the snow to gain some speed before he flew upwards into the night sky.

And all at once, Jon was alone, armed with only a sword ignited by a powerful Red Priest. He was completely surrounded, the Night King made sure he was encircled completely by his followers before he closed Jon in. I felt a hammering in my chest, seeing only a flaming red sword in a snowy field of black and white. Jon ran towards his greatest fear, swinging madly before he crashed it down on the Night King's sword. They fought hard, while Drogon glided across the endless crowd igniting as much white walkers as he could. I wanted to join in, but I had to watch, and see how this battle would unfold. Jon managed to disarm the Night King and point his fiery weapon in front of his chest. His enemy, however, was unafraid. “What do you want from us?” Jon demanded, his sword quivering with fury as he hovered it over his chest. Only the cold wind answered, and the flaps of the flame that was slowly fading away from his sword as if the long night was determined to win. “What-do-you-want?”

The Night King made a sudden movement with his hand, and Jon reacted by thrusting his sword into his opponent. The ancient King fell against his sword with a frightful screech that sounded like ice shattering everywhere; some of his followers erupted into tiny particles of ice, crumbling just like their leader was at the exact same moment.

 Jon was yelling out as well, but for another reason, the Night King managed to outstretch his arm and cover the whole of Jon's face with the palm of his hand. Jon tried to fight back but his sword was already in his enemy, and to lose, he would have to let go of the hilt of the sword completely. The two of them staggered to the ground; ice shattered all around them as two-thirds of the Night King's army disappeared into thin air. 

The field grew still, a third of the others stood motionless against the backdrop of a half-empty field. The ones that were destroyed by this magical force turned to ice or snow, or something that was beyond my basic comprehension of things. Viserion was silent too, and by the way his chest heaved while he laid on his side told me that he was close to dying.

Drogon flew upwards and then circled himself around me quietly, as if he was communicating something to Rhaegal in his own way. Rhaegal replied with a mournful moan from somewhere deep in his throat, and flapped his long black wings tiredly as he gently lowered us to the ground. "I think it has something to do with Jon,” I said aloud. “They know something we don’t.”

Drogon was the first to land, and Ser Davos did not hesitate for a moment to leap off his back and sprinted towards his King. Jamie soon followed, and then Parcelle with a heavy grey sack in his hand.

“Is it too late?” Jorah asked behind me, noticing the way Rhaegal stopped moving and decided to hover mid-air in a place of safety. “Jon isn’t moving.”

“He must be tired.”

“At all,” he stated, with a voice that demanded no more excuses. We watched the three men huddle around him, careful not to touch either King that heavily laid on top of each other. It looked like they were arguing among themselves frantically, and just when Parcelle agreed to knell down and touch my husband first, Jon unexpectedly staggered upwards from the ground with his back to them, but something was wrong...

“Jon?” I heard Ser Davos call out, a second before he started to move backwards with his sword pointing at his former King. The remaining white walkers started to awaken, closing the three men in with steady movements, while Jon's bright blue eyes that eventually turned upon them was enough of a warning for the three men to flee from him. Jon turned to the right and crouched down to dig something out of the snow crusted ground. _He has the Night King's javelin!_

“Jorah!” I panicked, and pounded the side of Rhaegal for him to move away as fast as he could. Drogon sensed the danger as well, and flapped his wing in the air until he hovered over the ground, while the three men begged to be let on his back for one last time. _You're too late._

Jamie turned his back to his commrades and unsheathed his sword, striding towards his his former leader with a determined look to stop him at whatever costs. Jon sensed the impending danger and was left with two choices: throw the javelin and get slaughtered by Jamie or fight back and miss the opportunity to replace Viserion with Drogon as a new ice dragon. Frigid blue eyes looked at both objects of desire, and without warning he thrust the javelin into the air and cemented it in Jamie's chest; the Lannister hunched over, breathing one last time before he fell to the ground with his eyes overlooking the starless sky. Things began to blur: Brienne went into a state of hysterics while the cries of desperation from Davos and Parcelle rang through the air, enough for Drogon to submit to their whims and lower himself to the ground for them to escape.

Jon briskly pulled the javelin out of Jamie's cold dead body, laying his hand over the front of the corpse's face until Jamie raised his back off the floor and started to crawl back to his feet. It was clear he belonged to the army of the dead. I felt my heart thumping in my chest, feeling the hairs prickle at the back of my chest as Jon raised his head in my direction. I wasn’t close enough for his weapon to reach me, but we both knew Drogon was…

The wind blew hard against my face as I squinted in the darkness, trying to find Jon and his dragon killing weapon in this winter storm that suddenly blew across this empty plain. A haunting roar echoed in the white whirlwind as I held my breath, and as the roar heightened with a terrified shrill I saw nothing.

 

 

 


	71. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Sansa**

Petyr and I sat down on a winter bench, surrounded by a cluster of pine trees and cherry red berries nestled deeply in a leafy green bush. We were in the south end of Winterfell, a tranquil little spot in the garden area where the hot springs were well attended to by our servants. Petyr’s hand was in mine, his eyes looking off to the right where a row of candles were flickering. It was late evening, and already a hushness descended upon our castle.

A soft stream of water trickled around the inner boundaries of this stone wall nearby, as the snow melted from the unusual wave of warmth that came over this garden area. I looked down at my other hand, a mountain of frosty blue winter rose was pressed between my fingers while the rest sat at my lap. Petyr had given it to me, and like so many things he offered it in an abundance.

“I’m glad its over,” Petyr hushed into the silence of the garden.

“The council meeting?” I quietly asked, while tilting my head into his shoulder.

“Yes,” he drawled low, and rested the side of his head onto mine.

“We did well.”

“You did,” he corrected me.

“With your guidance. But you know… I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’ve have grown a lot since we first met. You became a beautiful, strong woman, who I love very dearly.”

“Thank you, Pete,” I breathed, and lifted my head upwards to kiss the side of his cheek, stroking my hand along the bottom of his chin where the bristles of his goatee tickled the tips of my fingers.

“I don’t know if you know this but Tyrion said something interesting today.” He paused to make sure we were at eye level before he uttered: “He said, ‘I look like a man at peace.’”

“You do,” I conceded. “You are much happier now, than you ever been before.”

“It’s because I have you by my side.”

“It’s because your hatred is gone,” I rebutted. “Your anger, resentment… that need for revenge.” I paused as he laughed lightly, knowing the words I was speaking was truth. “My father would be proud.”

“Ned?”

“Ned,” I answered him with a trace of a smirk. “My mother too.”

“Cat,” he said sadly, and lost eye contact with me for a moment. I lifted my hand and rubbed the side of his neck soothingly, knowing there was a weight upon his shoulders as he let his thoughts stray towards the troubles of his past. “I have found something better,” he assured me, with a tiny crinkle around his eyes.

“You have.”

“I believe your parents would be proud,” he relayed with a strain in his voice. “Proud about the world you and I are creating. This is more than just us, Sansa, this about the gift we are giving to the world. Our child…” he paused for a wave of emotions suddenly came over him, making the last of his words get stuck in his throat. “They will carry on the family name. Give birth to a dynasty that can last for generations.”

“I know that means a lot to you,” I told him, while rubbing the side of his arm incessantly.

“It means the world.” Petyr leaned into my touch with lids half closed pleasantly. “A name has power, but I have learned there are other things as well. Love… friendship… honour... _forgiveness_ , all the things you keep instilling on me even when I didn’t want to hear. But I want you to know, I’m listening now.”

“You’re changing,” I said with disbelief.

“I suppose I am.”

“Pete, this is wonderful! I knew it- knew I saw the potential in you to be a good person, to become something more.” I leaned in to cover his lips with graciously sweet, innocent kisses as though I was a fair maiden that felt his lips for the first time. Petyr wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in as he took this pleasant gift that I was giving him.

“San,” he murmured against my cheek, after he brushed my hair away to kiss the side of my temple. He really did love me, I could feel it with every wakening touch and  with each lingering kiss he left on my lips. “You make me feel full. I am so…” Petyr tilted my head to face his, blue eyes seeking the depth of my soul as he looked into my eyes. “… happy to have you as my wife.”

He raised himself to his feet and then turned to reach for both of my hands. “Get up,” he ordered, and helped me to stand to my feet, before he took a hold of my waist and lifted me atop of the bench. I was towering over him, and he looked at the difference in our stature with ardent pleasure.

“Petyr, what are you doing?” I chuckled, as he wrapped his arms around the back of me and pushed his head into my stomach. “I want to feel them.”

“Its to early for that!” I chided, though I wasn’t sure if it was true.

“Sansa, I want our child now.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to wait a day more.”

“It will come, Pete.”

I stroked his hair down and around his ears as he smiled up at me, looking so proud to know I was pregnant with his child. _I must truly be blessed to feel so happy with him_ , I thought, and bent my knees slightly so I can kiss those soft rosy coloured lips again. He was pleased that they made contact, stretching our kisses out nice and long as he manouvered his hands all around me with a feverish fervour. “I have half a mind to fuck you right now,” he said in a hoarse voice, with a dangerously grey shadow eclipsing his eyes.

“Why don’t you?”

“Hmmm. I am asking myself the same question,” he taunted, after he took a large step up and stood on the wooden bench with me. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, showing him I had no intention of letting him go anytime soon. “But things are harder when you are becoming so pregnant,” he teased, as he laid one hand over the swell of my stomach. “Any bigger and I will have to come up with new ideas on how to pleasure you.”

“You can do a lot with your lips,” I shot back, and let my finger run over the bottom of lip to vex him a little further. “And you still have a working cock.”

“Its in order,” he stated with a raised eyebrow. “You thought it wasn’t working?"

“Oh, I know its _always_ working.”

“Should we check?”

“Petyr we are in a public area,” I reminded him with flushed cheeks. “Wait until tonight.”

“Why wait when I can have you now?”

“Because it is the decent thing to do,” I snickered, and shook my head at him as he continued to pull my body into him. “What will the servants think?”

“Fuck the servants.”

“Same old Pete,” I laughed, and buried my face into his chest as I let out an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

“You know, I hope our child won’t give me this much trouble.”

“If its anything like you, it will be worse.”

“You are not as sweet as you pretend to be, dearest.”

“And that is why you call me ‘sweetling,’” I reminded him in a smooth tone of voice.

“That is because you are sweet, like lemons…” he paused to peck my lips with his own. “Or Dornish wine, or strawberries on a bright summer’s day.”

“How very poetic of you,” I taunted, and kissed his lips to show I liked it all the same. “Maybe our child will be sweet, hmmmm.”

“If it’s a girl, I can only hope so.”

“So, you are warming up to the idea?”

“No.”

I slapped him over the shoulder with a scolding look. “Petyr!” I berated, and promptly covered his mouth to shut out the sound of his laughter. He lightly bit into the palm of my hand, making me gasp as I pulled my hand away. “You are being cruel,” I grumbled. “You know I want a girl.”

“Yes, with your precious auburn hair, I’m guessing.”

“It can be brown.”

“Like all the Starks,” he said with a dry, sarcastic voice.

“You liked me in that colour once, or at least mentioned it.”

“Did I?”

“It was when you smuggled me on that boat of yours and insisted on calling me your niece, Alayne.”

“You might have rung a bell.”

“A bell,” I repeated with narrowed eyes that almost looked like slits.

“You forget I am getting older. My memory is-”

“-perfectly fine,” I warned. “And you enjoyed it, didn’t you? Having all that time alone with me, pretending I was someone else.”

“My niece.”

“Or something more.”

“Perhaps, as I said before… it escapes my memory.”

“Alayne,” I uttered, and leaned away from him to physically get his attention. “You said it meant beautiful.”

“It does, and you be happy to know it was my mother’s name, so I guess that makes you special.”

“I am special.”

“You are,” he uttered in a strikingly husky voice. “Maybe I should show you.”

“Maybe,” I teased, and took a hold of the back of his head to let his lips hover barely an inch over mine. “But I am not sure your mother would approve.”

“She would be entirely against it,” he growled, and shifted his feet backwards until he could drop down on the firm ground, and quickly lifted me up to carry me away from the open spot. “How do you feel…” he breathed into my ear. “Being fucked where no one can see you?”

“Like our chamber room?”

“Like that shed over there?”

“Where the servants can hear?”

“I guess you will have to be quiet then,” he whispered in a husky voice, and pushed me towards the shed with his head scanning the left and the right. He opened it promptly, shoving me aside and soon followed me into the tiny shed with a loud shut of the door.

“Petyr,” I giggled out. “We can’t see anything.”

“Who says we have to see?”

“I can’t,” I giggled nervously, as I felt him moving me around the shed with our feet often colliding against some objects on the floor. “We aren’t seriously doing it here?"

“Sansa, where is your sense of adventure?”

“I lost it.”

“Should I help you find it?” he taunted, and I felt his hands glide down my frame until he grasped at the dress that swam around the bottom of my feet. “Taste it?”

“I am not sure what it would taste like,” I taunted, knowing full well what he wanted when he lifted my dress up inch by inch.

“Sweet.”

“Like lemons.

“Even more so.”

“What could be sweeter than lemons?”

“This,” he quiped, before I felt his mouth press against my womanhood, which made me stand on the tips of my toes. I had to hold my hand over my mouth as I felt his tongue circling the area, teasing me with his methodical movements that made me hunch over and lean on his shoulders for support. I was wheezing desperately as he kissed the area, and replace it with the slow prodding of his finger.

“No,” I wailed into the palm of my hand, knowing what was coming next. Petyr was stroking his finger slowly inside of me, up and down, as I found my body moving to the rhythm of his finger. My hands curled around his shoulder blade, breathing desperately as he gradually put me on a high. “Pete,” I hushed, and clenched my teeth together to make sure I didn’t make a sound. He suddenly went to deep, forcing an elated wail from my mouth before I settled on top of his hand and forced my entire body to go crashing down on him.

“It’s easier with my cock,” he joked, as he settled that same hand around my waist. I climbed on top of him, not bothered by the objects on the floor that continually obstructed our space. “But I sense my finger was enough.”

“You and your damn finger.”

“No wonder they call me ‘Littlefinger.’”

“That is not why they call you that!”

“No, but you will.”

“Petyr Baelish,” I scolded, but the rest of my words were silenced for he pulled my head into him and kissed me teasingly. His hands crawled up my dress and gathered around my waist, digging his nails into my skin as I kissed him back with equal fervour. _I could never get tired of this._

“Sansa, sweetling, I am so looking forward to tonight.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can…” I paused to nipple at the side of his earlobe. “... hardly keep it in your pants.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Then I expect us to have more than one child.”

“After you deliver one, I have every intention to make you have another.”

“You will make me like my mother,” I laughed. “Are you planning to have five?”

He settled his teeth on the bottom of my lip, prying deeply until he heard me wheeze and pull my lip back, hoping he wouldn’t leave any indention that others could see. Petyr quickly moved downwards and make a mark on my neck instead, feeling in a biting mood that I wasn’t exactly expecting. “I’m not counting,” he remarked into the side of my neck. “But you are young…” Petyr nipped at the top of my neck, while his hands slid down my shoulder to pry at the seams of my dress. “And beautiful, and with a face like this, how could I ever refuse?”

“You won’t,” I told him darkly, and almost wished I could see his face to know for sure that I was the sole object of his desire.

“You’re right,” he answered me, as he dug his hands down the front of my dress to feel the rawness of my cold skin. “I won’t.”

 


	72. The Devil's Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

  
“All hail the King of the North,” Lord Redwyne jeered, as I stepped in front of the crowd with my all black stallion in hand; Lord Redwyne gave me a false bow with a look of mockery in his eyes. The Lords around him laughed, filled with good humour for the adventure they had planned for me today.

“You don’t need to bow, Lord Redwyne.”

“No?” he asked with a devious-looking smile. “You are our King, are you not?”

“By your request,” I reminded him, while pulling my horse into the large circle that the Lords of the North had created. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Aye, I remember,” he laughed. “But you have to prove to us that you deserve the title.”

_Very well._

“You are dressed for the cold weather,” Lord Redwyne noted. He looked me up and down, noticing my all black attire with a thick fur collar that my wife had instructed me to wear. It was cold already, and with the lifeless grey sky and tiny flakes falling over our head it appeared this day would be a very cold one.

“I am prepared."

“A full belly and warm clothes is all you need out here. I’ve been filled to the point of satiety, but I feel its been this way since I crossed the gates of Winterfell. Tell me, Lord Baelish, where did you get all this food anyways?”

“Alliances,” I answered him, though I was actually addressing the crowd. “Everyone has their strengths and their weaknesses but the key is to _exploit_ them. The Tully and the Frey’s have their fish, the Houses down south have exotic fruits and delightfully tasting wine and the north has-”

“Meat!” Lord Clover interjected with open candor. “Deer, stags, rabbits and enough fish to travel our northern streams.”

“And furs from the backs of bears and wolves,” I added, while patting down the high collared fur wrapped around my neck. “How else would we be able to stay warm?”

“Aye, we have resources,” Lord Clover happily replied. “And that’s why we are taking you out! To see what kind of man you are made of.”

Lady Mormont trotted her horse forward; she was the only one on a horse thus far. “My men expect a lot from you, your Grace,” she warned. “They say you are nothing but a money peddler, whose days are better spent behind a desk counting coins and scrawling on paper. I disagree. I see you as a southern, but in time you will learn our ways.”

“Like how to drink our ale,” Lord Hornwood interjected. “And how to fight.”

“How to hunt,” Lord Clover interposed with innocuous demeanor. “To live off the land that god gave us.”

Lord Redwyne clapped me on the back of my shoulders and pulled me in with some affection. “You ever fought before?”

“Once. I lost to a Stark.” I raised an eyebrow as I addressed the crowd. “Have you not heard of the gift he had given me?”

“Humbling,” Lord Redwyne jeered.

“He cut me in two, and I nearly lost my life if it hadn’t been for the skillful action of Lord Tully’s Maester.”

“And that was enough for you to abandon the sword.”

“Why use a sword when there are more powerful weapons at hand?”

“Aye, your clever, Baelish,” He noted with a fiendish smile. “But this is the beginning of a distinctive period, an epoch if you will, and whether you like it or not, you will go down in history for your accomplishments. Men will sing songs about you, and you must ask yourself what you want to be remembered by?”

I noticed the deliberate pause he gave, and the eyes that settled on me as they considered the question. _I’ve married Sansa, isn’t that enough?_

“The family name of Starks have gone down in history for as long as anyone can remember, but as for you, it spans a single generation _if_ you can call it that.”

Lord Clover sensed my uneasiness and piped up, “It is your name that the child will carry. We only want what’s best for them.”

“And to strike fear in our enemies,” Lady Mormont rejoined. “The Starks name have power! A direwolf emblazes your shields and the silver crests of your men. But what can a mockingbird give? How will we hold men back with a bird sigil?”

“You would be surprised,” I said in a threatening voice.

“She is right,” old Hornwood concurred. “We already know Euron's army is coming. You have to consider the possibility of your wife and child's lives in danger. What if…” Hornwood looked uneasy and lowered his voice slightly. “What if all is gone and it is only you left, the only one able to protect them. I know... I can see it in your eyes that you would lay your life down for them.”

I nodded my head in a agreement with a somber look.

“But you don’t have to die, your Grace. If you are skilled with the sword… able to defend yourself and your family, this will never be a possibility.”

_He has a point._

“And never trust your men!” Lord Redwyne rapped out. “You of all people know men's loyalty can easily be swayed with gold. We are here to help you! So, for the rest of the day it is you, Baelish, who will be our subordinate.”

“I thought I might show you are recent investment,” I quickly added, hoping I could make the day fall more in my favour. “Lady Sansa and I are eager to show you our plans for the future.”

“After.”

“But-“

“After,” he repeated with sternness in his voice. “Get on you horse, your Grace. We have something to show you of our own.”

I reluctantly climbed atop my horse and reared the back of my foot into his side, so he could gallop forward. The party led me into the deep forests surrounding Winterfell, each of us strung in a long line that had Lord Redwyne at my front and Lord Farquhar at my back. The ride was quiet most of the time, someone near the front was singing an old folk song but aside from that, only the scampering of squirrels and a few ravens overhead could be heard. They eventually stopped at the Weirwood tree where Sansa and I used too frequent not so long ago.

“We will pray,” Lord Clover simply told me, after he had one of the Lord's help him off his beastly looking horse. He eyed me suspiciously, stroking his hands through his dark mustache that curled and crept his way down his face in an untidy manner. “Do you pray to the old gods?”

“Sansa does.”

“But you don’t.”

I blinked at him, deliberating what to say, but the only words that could escape me was: “No.”

“Are men follow the old gods, you would be wise to follow it as well. There is nothing we fear more than a godless man.”

“Or one who worships the Seven,” Lord Hornwood laughed.

“Or the Lord of Light,” Lord Farquhar uttered in a thin voice. “I have heard rumours…” He stopped in front of me and gave me a good once over look. “They are the ones that brought you back to life.”

“Some rumours have truth,” I answered him plainly.

“Then it is true?”

“I don’t worship the Lord of Light if that is what you are worried about.”

Lady Mormont joined our little circle with her hands on her hips. She tossed her long braid off her shoulder and nearly crossed her eyes at us with irritation “Are the four of you praying or not? We can hear your voices, and it is distracting our men.”

“Baelish, come,” Lord Clover uttered, while grabbing a hold of my arm as though I was a child. He was twice my age, maybe even more, but I would prefer not to be carted over to the Weirwood tree like a boy that needed to be taught a lesson. “You made your vows here?” he whispered, after we stood behind the crowd that was kneeling in front of the tree.

“Yes, Sansa and I got married here.”

“Then you understand the innate power surrounding this place. It is most holy. The gods can hear us here, our prayers are not in vain. The men you see before you are asking for blessings on you and your family, our houses, the entire North. If you wish to win their favour indefinitely, than you must recompense for your sins and speak to the gods that truly matter.”

“You want me to pray?”

“It is your choice.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Paying respects will be enough.” He saw my hesitation, the way my eyes darted to the silent men kneeling on the ground before I directed it to the tree. “Have you never prayed before?”

“I lived in a great castle that stretched along the Reach with a family… they worshiped the Seven.”

“And you did not?”

“I would pretend to pray, but I never really did it.”

“The Seven is complicated but our way is simple. There is one god, and he lives to serve the northern people.” He looked to the sky, sending a stream of grey air out of his lips as he let out a long exhale. “To be honest with you, our men don’t trust you. I am sure you got that sense in yesterday’s council meeting?”

“I did.”

“And your wife defended you brilliantly, but we are still not convinced.”

“Because I don’t behave like the Starks,” I said with bitterness.

“You are _nothing_ like us. How can you represent the people if you do not understand our ways.. our customs…” He puckered his lips for a moment before he added, “Our religion. Lay your hand on the tree, and tell me what you feel.”

I followed his instructions, walking around the crowd till I could get to the side of the tree. I closed my eyes tiredly and laid the flat of my hand on the solid white bark. _Petyr,_ echoed in my ear, and I felt the rush of wind past me before I felt a warmth travel up my hand. I heard gay laughing, so bright and vibrant I opened my eyes with surprise. It was coming from somewhere inside my mind, somewhere deep, like the roots of this Weirwood tree. “Petyr, look!” I heard Sansa say, and saw a vision of her bobbing our child on her knee, his dark brown hair falling over his forehead in a childish mess. “He’s got your look,” she giggled along with her child. “Like he's up to something.”

“No, sweetling,” I heard from somewhere inside of me, my voice replying in my vision even when my own lips were closed. “He's got it from you.”

“Papa,” he cried, and jumped off his mother's knee to sprint to me. The minute his small arms enraptured my legs I felt a warmth inside of me, a fire that spread upwards until I was forced to open my true eyes and fade out of the vision.

“Steady,” Lord Clover advised, and rested his hands on my side to keep me balanced. “You are here now. Take it easy.”

“I saw…”

“A vision.” H patted me on the side of my arm. “I could tell.”

“Sansa” I breathed with half a smile. “Our _son._ ”

“He will be a boy?”

“Yes.” I turned my gaze to him, trying to hold back the strong emotions that were coming over me. “A boy.”

“Now, do you believe in the powers of our god?”

“Yes.”

“Then pray, your Grace. Our men need strength, and as our leader they must look to you for guidance and wisdom.”

I bowed my head and leaned my hand on the bark. My mind was blank, I had nothing to say. I felt Lord Clover presence leave me and I felt safe, knowing I was truly alone. It was so easy for me to lie; to sing the songs they wanted to hear. _But I know I am better than that now,_ I thought, and licked the bottom of my lips lightly before I said a feeble prayer from the corner of my lips.

* * *

 “Where are we going?” I asked, as we trotted deeper into the forest. No one answered, I looked over my shoulder to spot Lord Farquhar behind me and repeated the question.

“They don’t tell me everything,” he slyly replied.

_Then why are you even here?_

“Forgive me for my curiosity earlier. I just wanted to know.”

“You’re not the first.”

“You should have saw Cersei's face,” he snickered. “She couldn’t believe it.”

“Yes, I heard you served under her.”

“I was her hand.”

“And you made it out alive? My congratulations!”

“It was a narrow escape.”

“How did you do it?” I inquired. He had ushered his horse forward so we could ride side by side. “Escape the lions den.”

“She sent me away.”

“Oh, that is not so bad.”

“It was.” His jaw grew tight as he turned his head away from me. “But you are more fortunate with _your_ Queen.”

“Sansa is something special,” I agreed. “I didn’t want to leave her this morning.”

“Our party won’t be staying at Winterfell long, then you can have her all to yourself.”

“I plan too.”

“Are you worried about what these old folks have for you?”

“They took me to pray. I only wonder what’s next?”

“They say it's for your benefit,” he reasoned. “The Houses are divided. They want Sansa as their Queen, but they are not so thrilled with you in the picture.”

“As I have said before, I can only be myself.”

“I agree! The best strategy in all respects is to stay true to one's self. That being said, you are not exactly an imposing figure.” He wore a smug as he looked me up and down again. “You are small for one thing, and incredibly thin.”

“Fit.”

“Lord Stark was a sight to behold I am told, as well as his son, Robb.”

_And yet, I managed to outlive them._

“When the time came for war their enemies trembled. They are men of war, and we need that in the days that are coming.”

“And that is why I have men to command my armies.”

“But is that wise?”

“To have someone lead an army on my behalf?”

“To give someone that much power?”

“I suppose… I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“And now you have,” he exclaimed loudly after he pulled his horses bridle to stop with the rest of the men. One by one they jumped down, all of them knowing what they were doing except me. I watched them tie the horses bridle to nearby trees, and decided it was best to imitate their movements until someone told me what exactly we were doing here.

“Your Grace,” Lady Mormont called out, and waved me into the center of a circle where fifteen men from the Northern houses and the Reach stood. “You are our King,” she repeated. “As King of the North you must learn how to fight and hunt. What weapon do you have on you?”

I pulled out Varys leant dagger, a simple weapon that I carried with me always.

“I have found…” Lord Royce piped up for the first time. “Men who carries daggers are either sneaky or cunning.”

“What is the matter? You’re afraid it will end up in the front of your throat?”

“More like being stabbed in the back!”

“My Lords,” Lady Mormont called out with her hands in the air. “If you wish to fight you must use weapons.”

“Gladly!” Lord Royce yelled out, and unsheathed his sword quickly.

“I order you to stand down,” I demanded without ever moving a finger. “Or you will be charged for high treason.”

He paused and visibly deliberated on what I had just said.

“Will you say that to your enemies, Baelish?” Lord Hornwood called out, while he tugged off his hat to show off his long, bushy brown hair. “Cause one day that tongue of yours won’t be able to protect you.”

“That is what soldiers are for.”

Lord Hornwood puffed up his chest and strode towards me with a dignified air. He unsheathed his sword carefully and handed the hilt to me. “This is a family heirloom. I want you to try using it.”

_And do what with it?_

“Come on, Baelish,” Royce called out in a mocking gesture. “You had me train Lord Robin, but maybe I should have done you as well, eh?”

I clutched the hilt violently and had half a mind to swing the sword at Royce, but common self soon prevailed. “Yes, you should have,” I admitted aloud with a great deal of embarrassment.

“Yes, I thought so.” He sheathed his sword away with the greatest pleasure. “You look like you've never held a sword before.”

_I never needed too._

“I'll teach you, if you'd like.”

“You are too kind.”

“I'm sure my daughter would as well, but that of course that is completely out of the question,” he drawled out with a look of resentment.

“Naturally.”

“She could probably beat you at it too.” He lowered his voice as he added, “I only wish she would.”

He never could forgive me for what I've done. I found I had mixed feelings about that, but my thoughts were distracted when Lord Hornwood pulled the sword out of my loose grip. “You better have a better hold on it next time,” he remonstrated. “We’ve seen enough for one day. Come on, your Grace.” He brushed past the crowd and led me through a tightly intertwined section of the forest where I frequently had to bend down or twist my way through the cracks of this densely filled forest. There was hardly any light there, a few sparse looking rays of light descended upon on my dark woolen coat. I pulled the hood up higher over my head, growing weary of the snow that found its way through this congested-like forest. I knew a few people were behind me, but who they were was still a mystery to me, for there was hardy any room to look back or even move for that matter. Lord Hornwood continued to lead the way, obviously knowing where he was going as he whistled a soft little tune to himself. The birds seemed to answer him, small trifle little things that nuzzled themselves on stolen branches to watch us pass by.

Something moved on our right, darting from the area and I caught a white furry thing scamper under a self-made hole and descend somewhere deeper into the forest. “There is something of interest,” a voice said behind me, it belonged to Lord Dustin, one of the younger Lord’s that partook on this journey northwards. “An arctic fox.”

“They have them here?” I asked, wishing I could turn around and face him, instead of squeezing myself through a gap between two large looking trees.

“You will find there are a lot of wildlife in the north, if you go looking for it.”

“And is that why you are taking me into the wilderness?”

“No, its some sort of initiation. To belong in the North, really belong you have to understand a few things.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll see.”

I stopped in my tracks and forced myself to turn around, gaining enough room to look at the middle-aged Lord in the eyes. “Like what?”

“You come up here on your high horse and expect everyone to do your bidding. But that just won’t be the case. You see, you have to earn our respect, and no matter who you are married too it will still stay the same. If you be the King of the North you have got to prove it, and that is why you are out here.” He used his hand to push me away as he passed me by, and the next two men behind him did the same until I was standing there alone. I ground my teeth together, wishing Sansa was here to comfort me. _I have to be strong for her,_ I told myself, _but how can I when they won’t accept me for who I am?_

“Your Grace?” a voice asked behind me, apparently the young man, Lord Farquhar, was a straggler. “Are you lost?”

“No, I was just stopping for a moment,” I lied. “Are you?”

“A bit, but I am happy to find you. The forest is so close together I almost fear to breath.”

“I have a similar feeling.” I began to walk forward, following the trail of footsteps that were left in front of us to return to the group of men. “They say this is an initiation. That I am not one of them.”

“Well, your not.” His voice grew louder as he stated, “But I wouldn’t say that is a bad thing. I rather like it actually… you are the only one here I can relate too.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise at him, though the longer I looked at him I could sense some likeness.

“The thing about the Northerns is that they have their own set of rituals and traditions. Anything new, like you for example, makes them uneasy. And to make matters worse, you are smart, ambitious, somewhat cunning, and from what I have heard you have enough gold to buy their lands and castles away from them. You are perceived as a threat, your Grace.”

“There was a time when I was nothing but an ignorant little boy without a penny to my name.”

“And look how things have changed.”

“I climbed up the ladder,” I uttered in a surprisingly raspy voice. “But I never imagined what it would be like to be at the top.”

“A crowd of enemies at the bottom,” he quipped, as he looked at me over his shoulder. “They are jealous of your wife, your money, your name-”

  
“Who is?”

“It could be everyone around you, your Grace.”

“Including you,” I joked. “But I thank you for your wise words. I can see why Cersei wanted you to be her counselor.”

“It was short and brief, but I would like to think I made a difference.” He stopped in his tracks to turn directly in front of me. “And it was fun trying to outwit you.”

“Me?”

“The grain crisis," he explained. "Have you not wondered how Cersei managed to pull through?”

“For that short time I did. So, you were the brains behind it?”

“Indeed,” he answered me, as he swayed at the top of his toes like a proud little boy. “And it might have worked, had it not been for Harrold Hardyng.”

  
“Oh?” I asked, while rubbing the bottom of my goatee mischievously.

“He took the Vale and that was the end of my plans.”

“Pity.”

“Yes, I am sure it was,” he said with sarcasm, though a small smile played upon his face. “I am certain you had something to do with it.”

“Such strong accusations.” I brushed him aside and continued my little jaunt down the pathway that was gradually spreading open.

“I have heard you attempted to align yourself with him.”

“I align myself with a lot of people. You of all people should know that, if you spent enough time with Cersei.”

“She may have said a few things.”

“She was never fond of me, but I found she developed a certain fondness for my gold.”

“Don’t you see? The very words you pour out of that mouth of yours, is why the Northerns do not like you,” He stated with a chilling tone to voice.

“I don’t want their likes- their love, it was never my wish to be admired by the Northerns. And I won’t lose sleep over it either,” I shot back. “As long as Sansa is the Queen that is all that matters, and if I have to slink behind her shadow then I will.”

“Slink behind her shadow,” he echoed. “You would think you are some kind of serpent! No, if you wish to rule you must be admired… loved.”

“Have you forgotten what happened to Ned Stark? Tell me, what has love ever gotten him? A severed head that was paraded on the King’s pike. Or Robb…” I stopped myself, realizing I was speaking too loudly and someone might overhear. I wanted to prove a point, but I had to be mindful not to go too far. “Margaery Tyrell was loved. King Tommen was loved. What has love ever given them? How many Kings and Queens have fallen even when they were as you said _'loved'_ by the people? No, if I should rule it won’t be that way-”

“Then how?”

“The Targareyns have their dragons and they rule with fear. The Lannister’s with their gold. The Tyrell’s with their luxuries and sheer beauty like the sweet smelling roses they were.” I pulled down my hood so the man could get a good look at me. “I’m a mockingbird. Do you know what that means? It means disguising myself to fit into surroundings, with every desire to never be distinguished as a threat. To be everyone’s friend, and never their enemy. To not fight them with a sword, but to _fuck_ them. My way may not be honourable, but it’s the only way I managed to survive for so long.”

“And die,” he quietly replied.

“Die, yes,” I admitted from the back of my throat. “But tell me, Farquhar, if you view me as so morally wrong than why was I chosen to live again? Obviously, I did something right!”

“That is between you and god.”

“Which god? The Northern one? The southerns? The Lord of Light?”

“Whoever you choose,” he bellowed out, before he stepped away from me to be at the front.

“With the vision given to me less than an hour ago I find I am rethinking everything. Still, I believe the only power one can find is in themselves.” I followed this man’s steady steps, keenly aware of how eager he was to separate himself from me. “But I can tell you disagree with me?”

“I do not care whom you choose.”

“Because you haven’t chosen yourself.”

“I belong to the Northern territories, but having my land go along the borders of the Reach and the southern border it is rather difficult to choose.”

“Take my advice. Don’t choose any, only pretend too. That way, you please everyone and anybody, but in the end you are only serving yourself.”

“And that is what you are doing.”

“I don’t know what I am doing,” I told him truthfully. “But having these men not wanting to accept who I am, well…” I felt my voice growing raspier as my anger significantly grew. “I fear my old ways may return again.” I cleared my throat, hoping I could shake off that old wave of temptation. “Of course, I made a promise to Sansa. And though, I am not exactly a man of my word, it will always hold true for her.” I looked at the back of this man’s head and uttered, “I am not sure why I am telling you this! There is no ties, no loyalties between you and I.”

“There isn’t,” he interposed with a curt tone of voice.

“But I know you served Cersei, so I gather you and I aren’t so different. We both know how to play the game.”

“What- what game,” he stammered out, after he turned his head to fully look at me.

“Why, the Game of Thrones.”

* * *

“Your Grace, the bow,” Lord Clover grumbled, before he threw the heavy cross-bow in the center of my hands. “You know how to use it.”

“You will find there are more weapons than the ones you can simply hold in your hands.”

“Do you know how to use it?” he asked with his hands on his hips. He stood directly in front of me, while the rest of the Lords and Ladies formed a staggered sort of line behind him. _Why must they all look at me that way?_

“I’ve never held one in my life,” I answered him in a snarky voice, growing weary of this man presence.

“We set up a marker over there. You see that black scarf tied to the tree. I want you to hit it.”

“Why?”

“Just hit it.”

I turned to the right and held up the cross bow to an insignificant lordling, whose name was not even worse remembering. “I command you to shoot this arrow onto that marker there.”

The young boy looked at me with a startled expression, before he darted his eyes between Lord Clover and I.

“I will give you a reward if you do it.”

 _There it is,_ I thought, _that look of greed that I know all to well._

“Faster you do it, the faster we can return home.”

“No- we- won’t,” Lord Clover drawled out.

“I see no point in this going on any further,” I shot back. “If you wanted me to use this… _thing,_ than you could have simply done it inside the walls of Winterfell.”

“And have you be embarrassed with all the men and women watching you. Look at the King that can’t even work a cross-bow.”

“Why would I want to, when I can have one of my men do it? I feel like we are going around in a circles, and I am not sure what you hope to gain from it?”

“The means to support you as our King.”

“King Joffrey! He was highly skilled with a cross-bow, why he could take it in his hands…” I held the weapon between my fingers and tilted the sharp arrow in Lord Clover’s direction, aiming it right in the center of his chest. “… and aim at his whores, and with one sharp movement…” I squinted one eye and lifted the cross-bow a little higher to make sure it would penetrate in the right spot. “He could kill them on the spot.” I paused, and lifted my head to make sure I could see the fear trembling behind this man’s eye. “Tell me, how does that make him a better King than me?”

I lowered the weapon and shoved it in the young lordling’s direction. “Take it, and lead me back to the Castle. I want to go home.”

“You will regret this," Lord Clover growled.

“I would say the same to you, and all your men that feel the same way. You really think being some glorious knight will make you a good King?”

“I do.”

“Then you should have served Stannis Baratheon or maybe- maybe even Ramsay Bolton. Capable commanders do not always make great Kings!”

“And you will?”

“I will be the best,” I told him, and stared at him long and hard until I could see that sour looking expression burn into my memory forever. I turned away from him and motioned the young lordling and my newly attained friend, Farquhar, to follow me.

 _The picture of you on the Iron Throne, and you be my side,_ echoed in my ears as I forced my way through the entangled trees. _I had more than that picture now, it was almost a reality. If only I knew how many obstacles I would have to face as I climbed up the last few steps._

_If only they knew I would do anything in my power to take it._

* * *

When we returned to the horses, it was clear we were the first to arrive. The others were somewhere off in the forest, but I had no intention of meeting them anytime soon.

“Untie your horses,” I commanded, and quickly strode to my own dark horse with eyes as black as coal. “Leave the rest. If it wasn’t for my gracious spirit I might have untied there’s as well.”

The young man with the cross-bow in his hand laughed at that, and I felt it was time to really take a good look at him. He had light brown hair, short and well-trimmed, and I noticed his apparel was well-attended too compared to the other Northerns. “What is your name?”

“Leeds Karfied, son of Oben Karfield. I come from the Grey Cliffs.”

“I never heard of it,” I joked, which earned a sound of laughter from the two men beside me.

Lord Farquhar untied his horse’s bride as he mentioned, “We all have the same problem.”

“It can be both a blessing and a curse.” I hopped over my horse’s saddle, and trotted it towards the men that were still preparing there own steeds. “Like waiting for the rest of the party, for example. Sansa will have my head if I return without them.”

“They had the right intentions, but they did it wrongly,” Farquhar mused aloud. “There is nothing wrong in learning how to use a weapon.” He went around his horse and unsheathed his sword to hover it in the grey sunlight. “It can be used for protection. For example, what would you do if I did this?” He darted the sword in my direction, barely hovering it over my chest to my surprise.

“I would motion for that man behind you to strike you where you stand.”

“And what if you were alone?”

“I would talk my way out of it.”

He pointed his sword directly on my thick woolen coat, and pressed the sharp edge through the fabric until I could feel it digging into the center of my leather doublet. “What if I didn’t want to listen.”

“I would distract you and flee.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then you better think quickly.”

“I would offer you money.”

“I have enough.”

“Land.”

“Enough.”

“Anything your heart desires will be yours.”

“What if I wanted to simply see you die.”

“You sound like my wife,” I chuckled, and shook my head at him with pleasure. “At least, sometime ago.” There it was, that blink of confusion, a look of sadness on his face. _Perfect._ I swung my arm against his sword hard enough for it to fall to his side and kicked my horse harshly, so it could sprint away, it did, and I darted through the gaps of the trees to gain enough distance between us. “That is how I will do it!” I shouted out at the top of my lungs.

“The Devil’s Treachery!” he shouted back.

“Yes! I am glad you realize it.” _Everyone thinks they can outsmart me, but they forget that I am the true master of this game._

“You may slip away from the hands of death, but your wife might not be able too.”

I pulled on the horse’s bridle and steered my horse towards him, never letting my eyes go anywhere else but inextricably remained on his own frosty blue eyes. “Should I take that as a threat?” I asked of him, as I leaned forward on my stallion with my dagger secretly clutched underneath the flap of my coat.

“No, I was only trying to warn you-“

“- that my wife’s life is in danger.”

“No!”

“It sounds like it.”

“Your Grace, that is not what I was implying.”

I squinted the lids of my eyes, burrowing it into his soul to see any hint of deception.

“I do not wish you and the Queen any harm,” he assured me. “But if you cannot defend yourself, how will you be able to protect them?”

“Hand me that cross-bow,” I demanded from Lord Karfield. He handed it to me with some level of hesitation and the minute I held that weapon in my hand I felt an indescribable amount of power. “You know… I never held one myself, but I once ordered one of my men to shoot a drunken old fool in front of Sansa. She was frightened, poor thing, still a sweet, innocent child in those days. She never cried tears for him, even when she thought it was _he_ who saved her from Queen Cersei’s wrath. I wonder… will she shed a tear for you?”

“Please, your Grace.”

I puckered my lip at him, feeling the strong need to release this quiver and pierce it in his damned heart for good.

“Please.”

“Why should I let you live? No- don’t answer that question.” I smiled at him over the weapon, liking the way he shook in fear. “You told me I cannot defend myself, but now I see you are in the same position, so…” I raised the cross-bow a little higher. “What will you do?”

“I would fight.”

“Then fight… but choose carefully what you do.”

“You wouldn’t kill me.”

“Obviously, you don’t know me.”

“You won’t.”

_I would._

A tense silence fell in the air, both men stood perfectly still as they wondered what exactly I might do next. It was not wise to kill a Lord, but the power I held in my hand made it feel so very tempting.

“Lower the weapon, your Grace,” the young lordling asked of me. “He has learned his lesson.”

“Has he?”

“I have,” Lord Farquhar answered with his voice falling into a pitiful shamble. I eyed him for a full minute, feeling the heat from my breath falling at the front of my hand where my grip strengthened over the trigger. I lowered it suddenly, though I continued to glare at him with hatred.

“I will have no one threaten _my_ wife.”

“I am sorry.”

“Save your apology for someone else.” I lowered the weapon to the ground. “Someone who is willing to hear it.” I laid the weapon over my lap and crossed my arms over it, wanting to keep it close for the time being. “We've been gone too long, and the way all of you have been treating me I begin to worry for Sansa’s well-being.”

“She is safe, your Grace.”

“I watched a world burn and crumble to dust, just so I could create a better one,” I voice aloud. “I will not lose it now. Take me home, my Lords.”

They quickly sprinted to their horses and sprinted atop of it, before they lead me the way home as fast as they could

* * *

I was cuddled up in Sansa’ arms under the covers of our bed. We were fully dressed, but I felt the cold still running through me. She was stroking her hand down the front of my chest, while the other wrapped around the side of my head to have it tilting against hers. “I will make them pay for this,” she promised into my ear, while her hand clutched my royal blue doublet under the tips of her fingers.

“Will you?”

“They’re wrong.”

“About?”

“Everything,” she wheezed in a low voice.

I turned my head to face her, letting her lips be only a breath away. “And what will you do?”

“Make our picture a reality,” she swore under her breath. “Have the entire North rally behind us, and if not…”

I smirked at her, finding deep lines indent my cheeks as I wore a look that I had not worn for a very long time. “I always thought you were a perfect match.”

“Revenge isn’t the answer,” she warned with a series of nervous blinks. “I won’t let you go back to your old ways, not when you are so close-”

“- they are siding against us.”

“Not all of them!”

“But enough.”

“They have a point,” she relayed with uneasiness. “But this is not the same generation as my father. I do not have to rule like him.”

“I fully agree.”

“But you must understand your role, just as much as I.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You wanted to be King,” she relayed in a shy, shaky voice. “But to be a King in the North is different from the South. They expect different things.”

“None of which I have.”

“I love you,” she promised me, while gliding her hands down my damp hair. “I knew what I was doing when I married you.” She pecked my lips lightly, letting it wander down the side of my cheek as I laid there flat on the bed. “Petyr, you will be a great King, but you need to understand that…”

“That?”

“You will have to learn how to fight, to hunt, or anything that the men of the North require of you.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“Do you want the throne?” She patted my cheek sweetly while her eyes remained leveled with mine. “Because you have to learn more than the game up here.”

“If you are a piece,” I rebutted. "But I am a player."

She inched her face away, letting her hair fall down her shoulders and back. “This isn’t about players and pieces,” she argued back, and then cut her eyes at me as I twirled the ends of her hair in front of me. “You persuaded the Lords of the Vale to teach Robin how to fight and ride a horse, but when they ask the same of you then you let your pride get in the way.”

“This isn’t about pride!”

“This is entirely about pride.”

“Sansa,” I groaned. “For once I want you to take my side.”

“I will, but you must learn.” She pecked my lips quickly before she rolled over to the other side of the bed. She threw on her house coat with her back to me, and I took the opportunity to creep behind her and kiss the back of her ever so delightfully exposed neck. “This won’t change my mind.”

“That was the last thing on my mind.” I poked my head near the corner of her eye, catching that expression for a moment before she turned it away. “I see you have the roses still next to our bed.”

She leaned forward and brought the vase closer to us, letting her fingers play with the bright turquoise coloured petals reflecting the warm candlelight. I pressed my head into the back of her neck, letting my hand stay towards her chest to grasp at the silver mockingbird hanging down her chain necklace. _I will never let her go._

“Do you remember the time you found me in the crypts?” she whispered. “You told me the story of my Aunt Lyanna.”

“I do,” I breathed into the back of her neck.

“You described it perfectly.” She lifted one of the roses out of the vase and twirled the stripped down stem between the tip of her finger and thumb, untouched and unscarred by the thorns that were removed before I offered them as a gift. “You told me Rhaegar Targyaren rode past his wife and laid a crown of winter roses on Lyanna’s lap. Why did you tell me that?”

“I thought you should know.” I leaned forward, and let my chin rest over her shoulder blade. “Or maybe I saw a comparison between their lives and ours.”

“What do you mean?”

“Two people in love, when all the world condemns it from happening. Our story is not as hard as theirs, but we still have our struggles.”

“Because they want you to fight with a sword?”

“Because they want me to be someone I'm not. If it was up to them, they would have you marry your cousin.”

“Jon?”

I tilted my head to show I had considered the matter before. “It would win far more support than the one's we received.”

“But he is my cousin.”

I puckered my lips unconsciously, and then let myself lean away from her and fall to the other side of the bed. She was watching me from a distance, still musing over the words I had just said. “He is a great commander, skilled on horseback and sword, known to lead entire armies both near and afar. Do you not think they would want him as your King?”

“I could never marry my cousin.”

“You should know by now, Sansa, that we don’t always have a choice.”

She jumped off the bed and paced across the room, stroking her hair feverishly as the truth hit her. “We can’t let him come back.”

“No, we can’t.”

“And you will have to learn how to fight. I don’t care what you think, Petyr, you must.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“It still won’t solve the problem.”

“It will lessen it,” she mused aloud. “The Lords and Ladies won’t be here long anyways. A few more days and they will be gone.”

“And think less of me than ever before.”

“No, you don’t know that! We just need more time to get them on our side.”

“We’ve tried everything.”

“We have,” she admitted, after she plopped down on the bed beside my head. “My father and mother never had this issue.”

“That’s because I am not your father.”

“No.”

I stroked mt hand through my hair upwards, exhausted from the day’s events. “I am not ready for the dinner party.”

“I should have their heads on the dinner plate.”

“Sansa.”

“What point were they trying to prove?” she asked with such care it made me sit up on the bed and reach my hand towards her. “They made a fool of you.”

“Something I won’t forget.”

“You won’t do anything foolish, will you?”

“Have I ever done anything foolish?”

“No, only cruel.” She felt the limpness of my hands in hers, and immediately squeezed it harder. “Petyr,” she begged, as she drew my hand to her cheek and leaned the side of her face against it. “Please, don’t make me worried.”

“Don’t worry, sweetling, I haven’t come up with a plan yet.”

“I’ve seen what you’ve done to people who’ve hurt you.”

I puckered my lip at her, looking as guilty as ever.

“I am more worried for them, than you.” I smirked at her, and turned my head away so she couldn’t see the darkness in my eyes. “I want to help you.”

“What?”

“I’m not the girl you knew at King’s Landing.”

“I never thought you were.”

“If you get blood on your hands.. I want it also.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to rule the North, by whatever means possible.”

“Meaning?”

“Write down the names of anyone who wronged you today.” She lowered my hand with a menacing look in the corner of her eyes. “I want to pay them a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing I love more than a morally ambigious character. 
> 
> Enjoy the climb, 
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish
> 
> P.S. On a side note my eye sight has been bothering me lately, so every time I write or edit a chapter it physically hurts. I am aiming to finish this story by the end of the year, but if this pain continues I may have to take breaks. My only motivation is thinking of the poet, John Milton, and how he managed to write all of Paradise Lost while going completely blind. Here's to hoping for the best.


	73. The Lord of Casterly Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Tyrion**

“Your Grace.” I bowed low to Queen Baelish, and only when she nodded her head in recognition did I raise myself to my normal level. “Have you come for fresh air?”

“I have come to see my husband,” she droned in a flat tone of voice, before she looked over the wooden bannisters. Her husband was in the training ground, wearing in a thick brown leather doublet that made him look nearly twice his size. Littlefinger was walking in a circular motion, keeping a distance from the young page boy that had a sturdy wooden stick in hand. “How is he doing?”

“Better.” I covered my mouth to contain the smile, knowing Sansa would disapprove if I laughed at her husband. “He is more skilled with a pen in hand, than a sword.”

“He must learn.”

“And he will,” I assured her, as I scratched the front of my face. “But it depends on what you expect from him.”

She groaned when her husband was hit on the side of his shoulder. He barely had time to defend himself before he was knocked on his arm and then wrist, which made him drop his sword momentarily. There was shouting down in the yard, and then Lord Royce appeared with slow, sluggish-like steps as he approached the two fighters. He spoke in a softer tone of voice, but you could tell it held a certain arrogant criticism that made King Baelish mouth turn sour, for he looked so disappointed in himself I hardly recognized him at all.

“He is hurt,” Sansa said under her breath. She tightened her hold over the bannister, and leaned forward to catch a better glimpse. “Look, Tyrion! How he is holding his hand.”

“He must have been knocked there by the stick. It is nothing to worry about, your Grace.”

“They should stop, and see that he is attended too.”

“And will that happen in the war?” I asked of her. “When my sister’s army comes, do you think your Grace will have the time to see his wounds attended too? He must fight, or die trying.”

“This is not the war!”

“Then pretend that it is, your Grace,” I reasoned. “No one will serve a weak King. He must be strong… like your father.” I turned my head away from her as I added, “Or Jon.”

“I wish people would stop comparing my husband to Jon.”

“They are both hailed the King of the North, and there are some who still wish to serve him.”

“The Lords of the North have made it clear who they intend to serve.”

“They have, but you forget not all of them are present at Winterfell.”

“That is their own fault.”

“Your Grace,” I stated in a low tenor. “Your task is to unite the North- not allow it to be torn apart.”

“So, I’m tearing it apart?”

“I think your _affection_ for Petyr Baelish has…”

“Has what?”

“Has blinded you to some truths,” I answered her. The Queen of the North looked down below to see her partner bent down low with a wooden sword in hand, it was clear he was in defense mood and ready for whatever the young boy would throw at him. “Like the simple truth that a King should not be training against a ten-year-old boy.”

“It was Royce’s doing.”

“That man takes every chance he gets to humiliate Baelish.”

“King Baelish,” she corrected.

“It is still taking some getting used too.” The corner of my lip turned into an awkward smile as I added, “Littlefinger suits him best.”

“Maybe,” she relented. “But I will not hear that word from you again.”

“Of course, your Grace.”

“And I will speak to Royce,” she mentioned. “It should be him fighting Petyr, and not some childish boy that will tell his friends and family of how terrible my husband is at sparring.”

“He is getting better,” I suggested, after we caught sight of Petyr slamming the stick down on the boy’s exposed ankle, and quickly taking that opportunity to kick the boy in the center of his chest to make him fall to the floor.

“Yield!” we heard the King of the North warn, as his sword hovered over the boy’s throat. The boy raised his hand in submission, and his King was kind enough to help him up.

“He fights smart,” I told my Queen. “His cleverness comes into good use.”

“But he needs to be more comfortable with the sword,” she noted. “He looks so stiff and uncomfortable. When he is on horseback, he looks so natural and at ease.”

“He grew up with the Tully’s,” I reminded her. “I am sure the girls were fond of a good day’s ride.”

“I’m sure Petyr was too,” she said with bitterness, and I noticed the sharpness to her eyes before she looked away. “I’m going down to meet my husband, you are welcome to come.”

“Your Grace, is most kind.”

She laughed lightly, and for a moment that steely heart of hers was cracked to show the young, naive little girl I used to know at King’s Landing. “You know I used to say that to Cersei all the time,” she laughed, as she partially covered her mouth. “I remember I wanted to be so much like her.”

“You are better than her.”

“She ruined me,” she spat out with resentment. “And my family. If it wasn’t for Petyr smuggling me out of King’s Landing, who knows what would have happened to me.”

“A public execution.”

“And they would have cried for yours too.” Queen Baelish held on to the handrails tightly, since the snow and thin sheet of ice made the old staircase almost unbearable to walk down. I followed her, but with my smaller legs it took more effort to make my way down the staircase. I spotted the three men in the center of the training yard, however, with Lord Royce handing a dry towel to each of the fighters. _It would not do to catch a chill,_ I noted, taking in how sweaty the pair of them were as snowflakes continued to fall around them.

Baelish left his men to greet his Queen, a chaste kiss on the side of her cheek before he whispered something close to her ear. She shook her head at him, but I could tell by the smile on her face that it wasn’t so bad. He held his hand painfully in front of his chest, and she was quick to inquire after the matter, holding it in her own with a great deal of concern. “You should show the Maester,” I heard her say, once I was close enough to the pair of them.

“Its just bruised.”

“I want you to go there anyways,” she chided, which earned her another kiss on the cheek.

Lord Royce large stomach was suddenly in front of me, and when I looked up, he was giving me a look of scorn. “You’re not coming to the training ground to fight as well, are you?”

“I only come to keep my Queen company,” I retorted, while I took a step to the side to not feel so uncomfortably close to him. “But I don’t see you training.”

“I don’t need to train.”

“The King’s Guard, and leader of his army should always train.”

“I don’t believe your father ever trained.”

“He did, but no one was there to see it.” I gloated at him with an over exaggerated smile. “How else would my brother manage to become such a great knight?”

“That is debatable,” he said with contempt. “Considering he is the _King Slayer_.”

“Politics!” I spat out. “Everything always comes down to politics. For example, how difficult it must be for you to be a Lord of _Nothing._ ”

“The Vale has fallen, but that doesn’t mean I am a ‘Lord of Nothing.’”

“You are, when your title is stripped from you. No wonder, Myranda, has such a hard time finding a suitor.”

“And presumably, you would like to be hers!”

“No,” I shot out quickly. “Not anymore.” _Who would want you as a father-in-law,_ I thought, and found Littlefinger was looking down at me with a knowing smirk. _He must find the whole situation funny, and I suppose there is a certain irony to all of this._

“Lord Tyrion,” he quietly noted, and bowed slightly at me with a broad smile. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“It is good to see your charming self as well, your Grace,” I replied with an even lower bow. “Your wife and I have noted your improvement.”

“I take it day by day.”

“Your hand…” I waddled closer to him, to inspect the red and purple marks sweltering at the top of his right hand. “It looks like it took a beating. May I suggest you have it looked over by a Maester? I never had such wounds, but my brother was quite apt at it.”

“I almost wish your brother was here to train me.”

“Aye, he would have been a good instructor.” I squinted in the warm sunlight that suddenly descended upon us as I noted, “Your Grace’s sister, Arya, would have been an excellent instructor as well. I heard she is highly skilled with a sword, according to Lady Brienne.”

“Arya is too busy up north,” Queen Baelish replied, though there was a startling crack to her voice. “Like so many others of our warriors.”

“Yes, but at least some of them will come. I have heard the Unsullied are nearly here.”

“In a few more days,” Littlefinger slyly replied, as he held his hand painfully in front of his chest. There was a pleased air about him, and not even the blood smeared across the front of his puffy leather doublet and dripping hand could not remove the sense of satisfaction that came over him. “Then I will feel prepared for anything.”

“Perfect timing.”

“Yes,” he breathed out from the corner of his lips. “Just when the Lords of the North and Reach are leaving Winterfell.”

“I heard they are holding a show for you tonight.” I scratched my beard reflectively as I added, “A feast?”

“Some are calling it a ‘Winter Festival,’” he drawled out with slow blinks. “In honour of my wife and I.”

“Then this will be quite a show,” I relayed with a smile. “All the more reason to have your hand attended too.”

He puckered his lips at me, and then let out a reluctant smile before he offered his free arm to his wife. She placed her arm under his lovingly, and soon they were heading back to the main castle in peaceful companionship.

Lord Royce stepped into my line of view with a hood pulled over his great round head. “He still needs work,” he muttered to me, once he was sure the King was out of ear-shot. “Lots of it.”

“Maybe he needs a better instructor.”

“The boy, Roylin, is from the Vale. He is a page, and one day will represent the Eyrie as one of our greatest knights.”

“But for now, he is a boy,” I reminded him. “And more interested in keeping his pride than instructing his King.” The man in front of me pouted with a long frown, but someone had to tell him the truth. “Surely, there is someone better who can train him.”

“I’ll ask around,” he grumbled.

“Couldn’t you do it?”

“If I did… I might kill him,” he said under his breath, while a disturbing look flashed across his face. “I never could forgive him.”

“None of us can,” I remarked, while watching the couple over Royce's shoulder. “But just because it looks like a smooth road for Baelish, doesn’t necessarily mean the ghosts of his past have forgotten him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s done wrong on more than just you, Royce,” I replied through gritted teeth. “And I’ve been told that _The North Remembers_.”

* * *

A low horn rocked the dining hall, like a wolf’s howl; heavy unison steps marched through the dining hall entrance, while a long line of performers entered the room. They were knights, and fighting men cloaked in their houses’ colours with their shield’s decorated with brightly lit sigils across their silver shields. Some men wore masks, while others faces were exposed with the gravest expression as they marched down the line. Once they reached the front, they knelt to their King and Queen, and then spread to the right or left to form a long line in front of their Majesties high table. The horn blasted through the air again, and the musicians in the corner of the room thumped their drums and shiny symbols to announce another entrance. Three female dancers came into the room, dancing barefoot with blazing red and orange dresses that flew wildly in the air. Two acrobatic men dressed in a tight-fitting patchwork tunic somersaulted into the room, until they pasted the three ladies in the center of the hall; the men did the splits and the crowd quickly applauded by their presentation. The men rose themselves from the ground and took a partner to quickly dance with. Loud drumming echoed around the dining hall while the men threw the women up in the air, and then spun them in the air so fast they never had to touch the ground. The third lady without a partner danced in front of her King, moving so seductively that men leaned out of her seat just to watch her. King Baelish wore a smug, but nothing alarming enough to attract his wife’s attention.

The drumming stopped suddenly, and the dancers moved to the side of the room, before they looked towards the entrance-way. A great yellow flame burst into the air from the darkened doorway, and the crowd shrilled with excitement before a seven-foot, burly looking man stepped into the room. He was as tall as a giant, and when he stuck a great staff down his throat with the tip of it blazing with fire the room fell silent. A tiny drumming echoed through the air, and then the large man blew out a blast of fire from his open mouth.

“You would think he’s a dragon,” Gilly shrilled next to me, and I looked up to see the small baby in her arms watching with the whole performance with an open mouth. “Or a Targaryen.”

“Dany could never do that,” I told her. The dancers flooded their way to the giant of a man, and danced around him as he lit up five small pieces of curious looking rods for them to take. The dancers quickly took it, and then danced around the darkened room with the fiery rods in hand. The giant stood in the center, stepping to the beat of the drum until he stopped suddenly and blew out a long flame to the right and the left of him. The crowd erupted with pleasure, for at the exact moment all of the dancers did a back-flip and fell to the grounds with the splits.

The strumming of a harp could be heard as the dancers took their bows in front of their King, and quickly danced their way out of the room for the next performance to begin. “That was pretty amazing!” Maester Tarly shouted down the table, with his eyes alighting with pleasure. “Gilly, could you do that?”

“No,” she laughed, before she placed the child in her husband’s lap. “Take him for a bit.”

“Hello, Little Sam,” he whispered, as he rocked the two-year old child on his lap. “Do you like your dinner?”

I laughed at the three of them while stretching over for my wine, and once I took a good long sip did I glance over to the King and Queen engaging in a private conversation. _They look happy,_ I noted, and felt glad for Sansa that things were at least going her way.

The music grew louder again, and the lead musician turned to the crowd to encourage them to clap. We soon followed, and once it was loud enough did a lone man walk down the grey and black tiles towards the King of the North. “Welcome to the Festival of Lights,” he simply said, and pulled out two long rods from inside of the flaps of his long brown vest. He went over to a small lit fire near the center of the room to light it up, and once satisfied took a few small steps back before he waved it brilliantly in the air. It created circular shapes in the air, dazzling with light where multiple circles of different sizes continued to keep us on our toes. He stopped suddenly and gave a quick bow before his Grace, and not even a moment passed when he tapped his feet to a rhythmic beat to have the drummer follow him. The crowd clapped along to it too, and just when we least expected it, the young man let out a yell and threw the two rods in the air to juggle. He danced with the rods, flaying in the air as he spun and jumped, tossing it between his legs and under his arm in an unpredictable fashion. The crowd continued to clap, as the man went around the room, and not even a minute passed when he stopped and waved his two rods in the air horizontally to silence us.

He opened his mouth to sing a foreign song, and I thought I never heard a voice quite like it. It was beautiful, and yet, sad, so much that the room was completely silent as this man sang out his heart to the crowded room. His voice went lower suddenly, and he knelt to the ground while pulling out another grey looking rod from underneath his well-torn vest. He alighted the rod with the fiery flame and rose to his feet to juggle the three of them together as soon as he finished his song.

“That song was beautiful,” Gilly whispered to me. “I only wish I knew what it was called.”

“I only wish I knew what he said,” I laughed. “It was not the language of Westeros.”

“No.”

The crowd erupted with clapping as the man threw great streams of light high into the air and managed to catch the rods simultaneously. Added to that, behind him were two men walking through the entrance way with stilts, while juggling oranges and apples in the palm of their hands. My eyes easily became distracted with the three different performances, and by the gasps and cries coming from the audience I knew they were enjoying it as well.

The first performer bowed before his King, and then walked up the steps to kiss the back of the Queen’s hand. He looked almost breath-taken by her, and how could she not when she was dressed in a bright frosty white dress that almost resembled the tiny snowflakes that grazed the glass windows in the dining hall. He must have said something that made Sansa blush, for her husband didn’t look exactly pleased by the comment.

“Look Little Sam!” Gilly called out to my right, and I turned my attention to the young family that were now shrilling with pleasure as one of the men on stilts approached them. The performer threw a small orange into the child’s lap and messed up the dirty blonde hair with his fingers affectionately before he walked away. “You got an orange,” the mother cried out happily, and I smiled over the rim of my cup as I watched the two. _I wonder if I will ever have that,_ I mused, _a family of my own._

A high-pitch sound came from a flute, and then the harp began to string in the corner of the room where the musicians were stationed. The two men on stilts bowed to the front of the room, and left side by side while still juggling the fruits until they reached the open doors. We watched the entrance-way, and then realized no one was coming when the musicians started to play louder with an added cymbal and rice shakers to add variety to the music. Servants came out of the entrance-way instead, with enough food to get Maester Tarly to bob up and down his seat with excitement. “They have more food,” he shrilled, while bobbing his child over his knee.

“Where do they get all this food from?” Lord Farquar asked me, as he leaned over my shoulder. He had been quiet most of the night, so I was surprised when he finally addressed me. “It’s the middle of winter, and Lord- I mean King Baelish has a never-ending supply of food.”

“He says he has the right connections,” I droned. “And he’s rich enough to buy all of the crops and livestock from farmers far and wide.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“He doesn’t,” I confirmed. “The farmers down at the market place have nearly praised him to the sky for what he’s done. He takes care of the peasants apparently, a lot more than Ramsay Bolton ever did.”

“Anyone would look better than that Bolton Boy,” he rebutted. “But I have been hearing the same positive reports from the people as well.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” I mentioned over my full cup of wine. “His wife does too.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything more beautiful than her,” he confessed, and I wondered if it was the wine that was talking. “Your sister was very beautiful, but I think the Queen of the North is even beyond that.”

“Yes, she looks almost like an angel this evening.” _An angel of darkness,_ I thought, for the man next to her clothed in all black could very well belong in the fiery pit of hell, if he wanted too. In a single look they looked polar opposite, and yet, so very much the same.

“I think of your sister all the time,” the man beside me confessed. “How angry she would be at me for sitting here.”

“Because you now serve Lord Baelish- I mean-”

“- yes,” he cut in. “I know what you meant to say.”

“King- Baelish," I corrected myself.

“I did warn your sister that I would have to go help the other side at some point," he continued, as though there was never a pause in our conversation. "But she never listened to me. If I still served under her, I sometimes wonder how different the state of Westeros would be?”

“The same, if she still intended on marrying Euron.”

“I knew he would kill her… I warned her,” he fretted. “She didn’t care what I had to say.”

“Cersei always had a mind of her own. She was poisoned by hatred and paranoia, and her children’s death took out the last of her humanity.”

“She had a heart,” he argued back. “I saw it more than once.”

“A beating heart, yes! But she was no longer controlled by her emotions.”

“Which is why she let me go,” he reluctantly admitted. “And her and I have had to suffer because of it.”

I could see the extent of this man’s feelings towards my sister, and I took pity on him. To fall in love with something so cold and unfeeling, proved this man was willing to put everything into the relationship, even with the potentiality that he would receive nothing in return. _He received a Lordship,_ I pondered, _and a right to have a seat at this long table._

The room was loud with chatter as the food continued to be handed out at the long tables; a small girl sat on a wooden stool as she sang along to the music in a low, somber-like voice. I tried to make out the words, but it fell to deaf ears, but the smallness of her size reminded me of Princess Shireen, though I had never met her in person. _The Onion Knight spoke about her often,_ I mused, and recalled him softly singing “It’s Always Summer Under the Sea,” quietly to himself. I wondered how those Northern men were fairing, if they had reached the Night King yet, and if they would ever live to tell the tale.

I could almost hear the low, growling voice of Davos Seaworth singing the last four lyrics as he sat there in the snow; so faint and far away, it still had the power to disturb me like it did the first time I heard it:

The shadows come to dance, my love

The shadows come to play

The shadows come to dance, my love

The shadows come to stay

 

 _What shadows,_ I thought, and wondered if those haunting lyrics had some prophetic meaning. I was scratching my nail across the dining table when a servant girl approached me. “More wine, my Lord?”

 “No, I think I’ve had enough,” I answered her in surprise. She had passed me as quickly as she came, and I contemplated at the sudden change that had come over me. _Had I grown older and wiser than before,_ I contemplated, _more prudent._ I found some level of peace when I was Dany’s Hand, and somehow that had stayed with me all this time. King Baelish had even noted my wise council, and specifically requested that I attend all the Council Meetings from now on. _He thinks me valuable,_ I thought, with a bit of a smile spreading across my face. _That’s a first._

  _I take after my father,_ I considered, and found not for the first time- nor the last, that I had an inward yearning to go home. _The red bricks and coastal sea are calling me,_ I mused, and if I closed my eyes long enough, I could almost see the towering trees just outside of Casterly Rock. _The fortress must nearly be in a state of shambles,_ I fretted, _and felt it was my duty to bring it back to its former glory. At least for Jamie’s sake,_ I noted, _feeling the lesser Lords under our jurisdiction would never want to serve an Imp._

 _My father ruled with an iron hand, but now that he is gone how will we be able to resume power?_ Luckily for me, Westeros was still in a state of chaos. _Perhaps, that could work to my advantage,_ I noted, _and found some relief once I took to eating my food again._

Only the harp struck an aerie chord throughout the dining hall, and the Northerns appeared to be filled with gusto, surrounded by good food and drink. Still, I felt like I didn’t belong here, a Lannister and an Imp could not call a place so far north his home. _I have to go home,_ I reflected, _a lion does not belong here._

The harsh carving of the Direwolf across the Northern men’s breastplates and leather tunic’s only proved that, and not even the elegant engravings of a mockingbird worn by a small few could make me feel at ease. _I should see the blazing colour of red,_ I thought, _and a proud golden lion roaring over a blood red banner._ _Are those days gone entirely,_ I wondered, _and hoped that bony arrow in my father’s chest did not steal away our family legacy for good._

Feeling homesick, I took to my feet and waddled to the front of the room to make a small request to my King. He looked surprised at me even mentioning it, and after a small word to his wife she nodded her head in approval. “Are you quite sure?” she asked me, after she took my small hand in her own.

“It wouldn’t feel right without it,” I stated with a droll look about me, as I tried to hide the true pain I felt inside.

“I am sorry about your sister.”

“It is not for my sister,” I assured her. “I just want that song to live on, even when the last of the Lannister’s are gone.”

She stroked my back, as though I was a child, but I could tell it was because of the concern she held for me. “They are not gone,” she declared loudly. “The bravest lion stands right here.”

“I am not brave, your Grace.” I let my eyes fall away from the loving couple, and let it focus on the golden goblet in front of me. “But it simply reminds me of _home._ ”

King Baelish leaned across the table with his chest pointing in my direction. “Do you wish to go home?” he drawled out in a low tone of voice.

“I do.”

“Then you should go.”

“Petyr!” his wife shrilled and laid a hand over his arm in dismay. “We need him.”

“He is a Lannister, my love.”

“But- but-”

“Do you not remember what it was like to want to go home?” he questioned her. “All that time in King’s Landing, and you felt out of place as a wolf captured in an iron cage… surrounded by lions.”

“And a little mockingbird came to save me,” she sweetly replied, and took the sides of his face quickly to thank him with a kiss.

“Not now, my sweet,” he urged her, as his wife had trouble letting him go. “Tonight, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“I do,” he cooed softly, and gave her lustful look that satisfied them both. I cleared my throat awkwardly, hoping it was enough for them to realize they were not entirely alone. “Tyrion, you slipped my mind for a moment.”

“Clearly,” I gibed, after I shot him a shrewd look. “Will you forgive me if I take my leave right away?”

“You wish to go back to Casterly Rock now?”

“Before Winter fully blows in.”

“Are you not acting for Queen Daenerys?” he inquired. “And what if you should run into Euron’s army? Unless you have shave off your beard, and let me pass you off as a child your not taking a foot out of Winterfell’s gates.”

I leaned against their dinner table with my arms crossed as I argued back: “And why not?”

“Because you know our plans, idiot.”

“Petyr!” his wife chided and shook her head at him with displeasure.

“He has been to all of our meetings," he explained. "He knows everything!”

“He wouldn’t tell them.”

“He would if he was being tortured.”

“You think they would torture him?”

“Shouldn’t your experiences with…” he stopped himself quickly, but the guilty expression that flashed across his face was enough for Sansa and I to decipher his meaning.

“Experiences with who, _Petyr?_ ”

“No one.”

“Oh, so you won’t say it?”

“Sansa, it was a mistake,” he groaned.

“A mistake,” she repeated in a steely voice.

“I only meant to say that there is a potential for Tyrion to be appended by our enemies. It would not be wise for him to go out now.” He turned his piercing blue eyes at me with silent entreatment for me to agree with him. “After the war, when all is safe, then you may go.”

I raised my eyebrows at him, and then answered him in jest: “It seems all our world hangs at that moment- the moment we defeat the Golden Company.”

“If we defeat it,” he softly replied. “I only hope we can.”

“With the Unsullied, we should be able to defeat _all_ our enemies. Maybe even the ones up North.”

“Up North?”

It was his wife who addressed him with a firmer hand on the side of his arm, as she muttered, “He means the white walkers.”

“Oh.”

“They are still a threat.”

“One threat at a time.”

“It is possible that Jon may not be able to defeat them. You had said so yourself.”

“When?”

“You don’t remember,” she slyly replied with a curl of her lip. “The third day you joined our council meeting and told me there are three possible outcomes to all our problems. You predicted that I would be Queen one day, but then again, you said that so many times before.”

“Because I believed you would make a great one.”

“And you were right,” she conceded, before she leaned in to kiss the side of his cheek. “Alright, Tyrion, you can request the song.”

“And you better expect backlash,” her husband added. “The Rains of Castamere,” he chided. “It is just like a Lannister to have one final bow.”

 _And why shouldn’t they,_ I thought, as I descended the stairs to talk to the lead musician. _We ruled Westeros for two generations, with Joffrey, Tommen and Cersei on the Iron Throne; the legacy of our family will live on- it must._

It was a male singer that waited for me to take my seat before he silenced his band with a single wave of his hand. “Let us remember that there are Houses of all kind that serve our King,” he declared loudly to the room. “Even the proud Lannister’s.”

He chose to sing without an orchestra, and only his deep, resonate voice bellowed across the crowded room as he sang:

_And who are you, the proud lord said,_

_that I must bow so low?_

_Only a cat of a different coat,_

_that's all the truth I know._

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

_a lion still has claws,_

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_

_as long and sharp as yours._

 

I felt my chin tremble with feeling, as the weight of my house was placed upon my shoulders. I knew I had to restore it to greatness as the man finished the last of the song:

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,

that Lord of Castamere,

But now the rains weep o'er his hall,

with no one there to hear.

Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,

and not a soul to hear.

 

“Never let the other houses see you as weak,” I could almost hear my father say. “You may be an Imp, but you’re still a _Lannister._ ”

I felt all eyes on me as the song commenced, and I found my body trembling further as the weight continued to push me down. A hand laid over me, and I turned to see Lord Farquar giving me an honest look. “I miss her too,” he whispered, seemingly misinterpreting the reason I requested this song.

“I miss _all_ of them,” I told him. “Beautiful Myrcella, gentle Tommen… Joffrey, in a strange sort of way, or maybe its just the insults I liked hurling at him. Maybe- maybe even my father, though I hated him at the end.” I looked the man straight in the eye as I added, “I killed him with a cross-bow. The same weapons you Lords wish King Baelish to learn. Take my advice, will you, leave that man _alone._ ” I crawled down the chair and pushed it in loudly before I stepped out of the room, not wanting to be around a single Northern further.

 


	74. The Fate of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Bran**

I must have fallen out of sleep again. It had been that way ever since I lost my connection to Drogon; the loss of Jon- the fear surrounding them had severed my warging abilities to Drogon completely. I was completely and utterly alone now, and only the sharp whistling wind from the approaching storm was my sole company. I rested the back of my head against the Weirwood tree, squinting into the darkened tempest that quickly surrounded me. There was a squeal from a raven overhead, perhaps, my only friend as I laid there permanently outstretched on my wooden sled.

I let my head drop down to my chest, trying to fight back the never-ending hunger that overcame me. I wish Summer was still here, so I could at least warg into him to search for food. He died in that great cave, however, just like a part of me died when I became the Three-Eyed Raven.

A small chirping from a bird nearby caught my attention, and found my thin dry lips crack a smile at the merriment of it. I had spent so much time in others’ bodies that I forgot what it was like to be in my own. _Will I die here,_ I wondered, knowing there was no being to slip into with the same level of ease as Summer or Drogon. _It was like I was meant to fly,_ I silently considered, and found my eyes darting to the corner of my eyes as I tried to catch sight of the bird in the far-off distance.

The awkward silence fell over me again, and I felt my heart harden knowing that I was truly alone in this abandoned forest. _So, it must be for the Three-Eyed Raven,_ I thought, but it did not take away the weakening spirit that inevitably came over me. I let my accursed hands touch the Weirwood tree, knowing it was the only supple of strength that gave life to these brittle old bones. I let the lids of my eyes fall back into place, shut completely before I let myself slip into that meditative space once more.

“Bran,” I heard my father’s gruff voice call out, and saw a shadowy image of him. He wore the same brooding look, with deep lines etched under his eyes that showed the sorrow he had seen many life times ago. He turned away from me then, and went over to the slab of rock where he was to perform the execution. There was mist settling over the area as the young man draped in black confessed his treason: “I know I broke my oath. I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the wall and warn them, but I saw what I saw. I saw the _white walkers_ …” The man’s last words seemed to be echoing in my ears, vibrating into the farthest corners of my mind in both my vision and where I laid against the tree. _We were warned all along._

“You understand why I did it? Do you understand why I had to kill him?” my father asked of me. “The man who passes the sentence must _swing_ the sword.” He stood over me, showing a look of worry from his dark brown eyes as he watched me fidget with my horse’s bridle. There was never a look of hesitation when I asked if he believed the young man, and without a single breath passing he answered: “The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years… a mad man see’s what he sees.”

_He was wrong._

The vision dissipated, and I was faded back to my present surroundings where my head was tiredly resting against the Weirwood Tree. _If only we had listened,_ I thought, and blinked my eyes wearily as I watched the gentle snowflakes flutter in the wind _. The White Walkers are free to roam across the Northern parts of Westeros without their King, or are they simply under a new command now?_

“Jon,” I mouthed softly into the billowing wind, and felt the distance howl of a wolf was my only reply. I had not allowed myself to grieve over the loss of my brother, and even as I sat here all alone, I felt it was only in vain to waste a single tear on him. He was gone, and the fact that he was defeated by the Night King made it all surreal. _It wasn’t supposed to be this way,_ I reminded myself, _I had saw him defeat the Night King, but never him falling by the same man he was destined to defeat._

Another howl shook the starry night, and I felt the wolf was creeping its way towards me. _He can probably smell me,_ I noted, but I also knew there was something of a wolf inside of me as well. _Summer,_ a broken part of me muttered in the back of my head, a former voice that reminded me of when I was a child. I was a child no longer- it was a man that was outstretched against a Weirwood tree with a shadow of a beard across his pale white skin. _A man that lost everything,_ I thought, as another wolf howled to the moon overhead. _But gained something in return…_

“Nymeria?” I called out, as the air suddenly felt cold around me. I sensed her approaching, this great Direwolf that once belonged to my sister. I raised my head off the tree and darted my head from side to side to spot her in the darkling forest. A low growl to my right resounded and then to my left, and I knew the wolves were coming. The padding of their feet squished against the hard snow, and soon enough five wolves stood before me with low growls and barred teeth. _I’m not afraid._ I leaned my back off the Weirwood tree and called out, “Nymeria?”

A silence descended over them all, as the largest wolf I’ve ever seen quietly stepped towards me. _Its her,_ I realized, and slowly outstretched my frozen hand towards her face. “Nymeria, its you,” I breathed out softly, and watched its forest green eyes stare back at me sadly. “You’re the last one.”

The Direwolf brushed its black nose against the frozen tips of my fingers, which looked like blue ice blocks that had not sense of feeling or usefulness anymore. I immediately felt a strange connection, as if a part of Arya still resided in her. “There’s a strong bond,” I said aloud, and suddenly realized why there was always an outlandish amount of wildness in my sister. “You miss her too.”

I never figured out how she died, but I knew there was something sinister behind it. _It will always be a mystery to me,_ I mused, though I remember sensing an overwhelming amount of sadness on the night she died. _Her body will never reach the crypts,_ a strange voice whispered in my ears, perhaps the part of me that could see the future, even when I never truly understand it. _She’ll never see Winterfell, and no one will ever know what happened._

_And I’ll never know why…_

The ravens squalled overhead in warning, and I knew that even they could even sense the danger approaching. Immediately I saw a dagger, _my_ _dagger_ , flicker through a corner of my mind; the blade unsheathed and shining in the darkness with the Valyrian blade gravely reflecting my pallor visage. “Anything I can do for you, Brandon, you need only ask…” a low voice spoke to me in the surrounding darkness.

“Do you know who this belonged too?” I heard my voice question him, as I tilted the dagger to catch the hallowing moonlight.

“No,” the man answered beside me, his form eclipsed in darkness with only his silver rings sparkling in the dim light. _He knows,_ an unsettling voice told me, _and then he uses it again…_

The vision faded before my very eyes, and then I instinctively knew how my sister’s murder had come about. “It’s him,” I mouthed, and found my hand dropping away from Nymeria to severe the connection entirely. My voice sounded so emotionless as I uttered, “It was _Littlefinger._ ” The wolf growled before me, as if it could understand the words that I was saying; the spirit of Arya was still strong within this female Direwolf, but I felt nothing at this sudden realization.

“And now he is the Lord of Winterfell,” I muttered under my breath, disheartened with the thought of it. “My poor sister.”

 _Will he kill her too,_ I wondered, but the visions I had seen so far had not hinted it. When I was Brandon Stark I would have cared, and done anything possible to warn her, but I was the Three-Eyed Raven now, and my sister’s well-being was no longer my cause of concern.

 _I need food,_ I mediated, and stared deep into Nymeria’s eyes to state my request. There was some reluctance to let me pass through, but soon enough I saw my crumbled form lying in front of an aging tree. I felt warm suddenly, and strong- instantly the sights and smells ignited before my eyes and I knew I was no longer that crippled boy hunched over in the snow but a wolf once more.

* * *

A flock of ravens scattered across the moonlight sky; days had passed since Nymeria had come to visit me. I was fed, and cared for, and covered in warmth from the heavy fur that laid on top of me as Nymeria snuggly slept across my legs and chest. With such comforts I was hardly surprised when my head jolted upwards and I felt my eyes grow white and dim until I fell into a series of visions that were related to my blackened thoughts.

“But the rest of me… he did what he liked with the rest of me, as long as I can still give him an _heir._ ” My sister’s face was hard as stone, cold as the winter storm that raged outside of her shelter. A man stood before her- _Littlefinger,_ with a face so soft and sympathetic it almost looked like his heart would break. “What do you think he did?”

“I can’t begin to contemplate-”

“- what do you think he did?” she cut in with a steely voice.

“He beat you… did he… cut you?” he asked with a failing voice, and the tenseness of the moment ignited before the vision toppled over to something else. I felt cold all of a sudden, even when I stood next to a fireplace in one of the chamber rooms of Winterfell. I wrapped my cloak around my form further, half surprised that I was standing here on my own two feet. A rustling was heard, and I squinted into the darkness to see a shapeless form rolling across the bed; heavy grey sheet covered the form, but once I stood at the foot of the bed, I could instantly recognize that famous shade of fiery red hair. _Sansa,_ I thought, before I heard her sniffle under the sheets. _She’s alone,_ I realized, and saw her roll around the sheets again in silent tremble. Sansa looked afraid, and the soft murmurs that escaped her lips proved she was having a nightmare. “Sansa?” a voice came to the left of me, and then I saw the same man in my image not to long ago stalk his way out of the bathroom and to his side of the bed. “Sansa, sweetling,” he entreated, and when he laid his hand on her shoulder she woke up with frightful screams. “I’m right here,” he entreated, as she burst out in tears with her hands desperately clawing at her face. “I know, I know,” he kept repeating, and went on to the bed to wrap his arms around her. “He’s gone, my sweet,” he assured her, as he kissed the side of her sweaty temples, and rubbed his hands down the side of her arm soothingly. “I’m sorry.”

 _He’s sorry,_ I thought with resentment, and turned my head away to see no more.

“Are the nightmares getting worse?” a raspy voice asked in the darkened room. “Should I ask Maester Tarly to give you something?”

“No,” she quietly answered him, with a series of sniffles into the side of her sleeve.

“My dear, sweetling,” he cooed. “What would you like me to do?”

“I don’t know.”

I turned my head in their direction, watching Littlefinger kiss her on the side of her head. _Maybe he does love her,_ I mused, and found the whole thought sickening again.

“Should we go away?”

“No, we can’t. The North needs us.”

“Yes, but it happened in this house. Sansa, I am more worried about you and our child.”

“It’s fine,” she bitterly shot back.

“It’s _not_ fine,” he rebutted. “Once the child is born, I will take you away. I promise.”

“Our son belongs here,” she argued back, after she buried her head into his chest.

“So, you finally believe me?”

“You did say you saw a vision when you touched the Weirwood tree-”

“- and you laughed at me,” he interjected.

“Only because I wanted a girl.”

“You will have one,” he assured her, and lifted my sister’s head from his chest so he could look at look at her. “Do you believe me?”

She kissed him in reply, and I turned my head away with the wish to see no more. _I’ve seen enough,_ I told myself, and found the dream fading away with a cloud of white swirls and mist, and then found myself standing in a cold hardened place with no lights except for a small candle resting in on a residing grave stone. I heard the droplets echoing in the cave, a small dark place that felt so familiar to me. There were two silhouettes in front of me, both standing in front of the candlelight and looking down at something that claimed their attention. “I gave your wife more medicine, so she can sleep,” the smaller man remarked, and turned his head to look at the other one beside him. “She wanted to see you.”

“Tell her…” there was a loud swallow, as if his voice was dry. “… I will see her later.”

“I’m sorry.”

The man nodded his head slowly, barely moving as he fixated at the thing in front of him. I slowly walked behind them, taking in the fact that we were beneath Winterfell- within the crypts.

“Your son too,” the smaller man piped up with a roundish figure. “He asks after you.”

There was silence on the other man’s end, and I felt he didn’t even have the strength to stand at that moment. _Robb’s grave,_ I noted, and felt in my heart that it was completely empty. _My mothers,_ I took note, as I walked down the long line of crypts dedicated to my family. _Fathers, Rickon’s, Arya’s, and they even have my own._ “Date unknown,” I mouthed, and realized the people of the North didn’t even know if I was still dead or alive.

“Would you like me to give you milk of the poppy as well, your Grace?”

“Do you…” the man’s voice faltered, but he was determined to prevail. “Do you think some sins are inexpiable?”

“Your Grace?”

“I sometimes wonder if I deserve this.”

“It was not your fault, your Grace,” the man entreated, and turned his body to face the current King of the North. “Neither was it your wife’s.”

“She died.”

“From natural causes-”

“- what in God’s name is natural about this?” he screamed out. The man’s body suddenly trembled and he turned to the wall beside him to slam both of his open hands into the stony wall.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“My loss,” he jeered, with a deep tremble in his voice. “You’ll never understand my loss!”

“You still have a son, your Grace.”

“All she ever wanted was a daughter,” he uttered, which sent a thrilling echo across the deep caverns of the crypts. The King walked away from the small-size crypt, and the smaller man quickly followed like two shadows in the night. The candle was still left in place, and I knelt to see the newly designed tomb that could enclose a small child- a baby.

“Alayne Baelish,” I read aloud, and laid my hand on the dates that showed the child lived only for a day. “Oh Sansa, I’m so sorry.”

I heard steps returning to the crypt as the vision faded, and just before it was gone completely, I saw Maester Tarly outstretching his arm to retrieve the candle; his face was drenched in tears.

 


	75. Orphans of Us All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I tried to get this done by the end of the year 2018 and that definitely did that happen. On the upside, I tied a few loose ends to the plot-line in my mind and now know for sure where the end of this fic is heading. I can see it on the horizon, but I still have a long way to go.
> 
> On a much brighter note, it will be completed before the "Winds of Winter" lol
> 
> That was cruel... I know you are most eager for that next installment of Game of Thrones as much as I. Perhaps, it would fix the mess that D&D made... okay just a little. On a random note, did anyone of you see the season 8 trailer where Sansa apparently hands over Winterfell to Daenerys? We won't speak of that... just pretend none of D&D's nonsense ever happened.
> 
> Now that my rant is done its time to go back to "The Devil's Treachery," and let me begin by saying the last chapter I wrote was emotionally draining. I apologize if I had triggered something personally in your lives, and I will take extra care to warn you as the readers in the author's notes if anything of that subject matter shall be discussed in greater detail again. Since I made your lives miserable with my last chapter (I do apologize again) this next one will be full of light, happy fluff to cheer you all up. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for sticking it "The Devil's Treachery" so far. Petyr and Sansa have had their highs and lows, and just like in real life they are learning how to work through their troubles together and strengthen the amazing relationship they already have. I am extremely excited to see where their relationship goes, and know they can fight through their difficulties as long as they are in it together.
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish

**Petyr**

 The air was brisk, but it was a very fine day to take the horses out. Darin was on my left, slowly trotting his light honey blonde haired stallion that denoted his sudden ascendency to power. Sansa was on my right, with her familiar black and white spotted horse that I had picked out for her shortly after our marriage. We had spent the day going over a litany of things, choosing out the best spots for the future Unsullied encampment; I had specifically requested that they remain outside of our high sheltered stone walls, since I could not fully trust this foreign army inside the gates of Winterfell just yet. It would have been different if they were completely mine, but I knew the Unsullied forces belonged to another.

“Is this it?” Sansa inquired, after Darin stopped outside of a lodging built of log and undressed stone. We were outside Winterfell’s gates exploring _Winter Town_ , a heavily congested area where most of the commoners resided. Darin looked down at the stencil map Maester Tarly had let us borrow and nodded his head in ascension.

The guards behind us was circumspect to the common people’s movement behind us, knowing our lives were still at risk even if were still in the North. I nodded my head at them to show this was the spot, and then dropped down from my horse was my feet splashing in the deep pool of mud. I grunted at the display of dark brown mud sprayed across my legs and upper thighs, and then decided to ignore it by turning my attention to Sansa instead. “Let me help you,” I suggested softly, and offered my strong hands for her to lean into so I could help her down. Sansa dropped to her feet gracefully, letting me hold her for a bit longer so we could treasure these precious moments together.

“Thank you, Petyr,” she said sweetly. Her fingers curled into the side of my cloak, letting the tips of her fingers stroke the top of my shoulder as I held her so close. “The cold air suits you.”

“Oh?”

“Your cheeks are all pink,” she quietly laughed, and without me realizing it she had removed her glove and stretched it out to rub her warm flesh over my cold cheek. The sensation was riveting, making the lids of my eyes flutter contently before I closed it for good. “You must be tired.”

“I’m tired,” I confessed softly, for only her to hear. “I want a warm fire and my bed.”

“You’ll want more than that,” she confided, knowing me perhaps better than myself. “And I see nothing against it.”

“Because you are my wife,” I relayed, as I felt her slowly slipping out of my arms.

“Because I love you,” she said almost immediately, and stared into my eyes for a little longer before she took a step away. She had her bearings quicker than myself and had a hold of horse’s bridle before I even considered the matter. Sansa was steering her horse over to a wooden railing and waited patiently for one of the guards to tightly knot it up for her. “What do we know about this place?” she inquired, after I resumed my place by her side. “It doesn’t seem to be empty.”

“No, its very noisy,” I commented, and looked to the top of the building to see if I could peer my way into the foggy glass.

“The establishment is unknown,” Darin piped up behind us. He waved the map in the air frantically as if it held some secret key. “But it was marked off for not paying their rent in three months.”

“Then we should speak to the owner directly,” I mused aloud. “But I could have sent someone else for that.”

“Maester Tarly,” Darin drawled out. “Marked it off because the absence of rent means it technically belongs to us now.”

“Which means,” Sansa added in. “Another place for the Unsullied army to stay.”

I took a step forward and patted the solid wood firmly with my gloved hand. “Its sturdy,” I noted. “And will be warm enough for them.”

“How many can we house?” my sweet wife asked. She had laid her hand on the sturdy structure as well, keeping her hand in close proximity to my own.

“Fifty to eighty, maybe? Any more and the lodgings would be uncomfortable. I have found people are willing to fight for you more if there is no harboured resentment.”

“And good wages,” Darin piped up with a shadow of a smile.

“Ah,” I painfully said. “But I’m not the one paying them.”

Sansa had tugged at my sleeve to get my attention, reminding me of some small little girl trying to get her father’s attention. “We haven’t heard from Daenerys, have we?”

“Not in a very long time.”

“They will want to know what has happened to their Queen,” she expressed with worry in her voice. _You are the only Queen now,_ I thought, _but perhaps that was just wishful thinking._ “What will we tell them?”

“The truth. They are expected to protect Winterfell from a coming invasion,” I replied, as we rounded the side of the building to get to the front. “And once that is done, they are free to go back to her.”

“Your Grace,” Darin announced in a loud enough voice to gather my attention. “Is it not odd that you have not heard from either of them?”

“Who?”

“King Jon,” he stated in a clear tone of voice. “And his wife, Daenerys.”

“You think he is King?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said in truth. “There can’t be two King’s in the North, can there?”

“No.”

He walked close to my side, almost brushing his shoulder against mine as we mounted the small wooden steps. “You are more a King to us, than Jon will ever be,” he confessed, with a nervous look over my shoulder to Sansa. “Only because you invest in us.”

“Your words are wise,” Sansa answered him back, since she knew he was trying to catch her eye. “But Jon invests in his own way.”

“Through war,” he blurted out. Darin paused once he saw my arm stretch out to knock on the old wooden door. “And bloodshed.”

“By protecting us?”

“Isn’t that what King Baelish is doing now,” he rebutted, and Sansa’s answer was thwarted by the hush of the door being open with a series of laughter’s and cries coming from inside.

“Oh,” a heavy-set man uttered with shock. The elderly man was large, almost the size of the Hound as his head nearly brushed the top of the doorway. Tired black eyes glared at us, and then looked past us to see the King’s guards scattered across his lawn and tiny wooden staircase. “Your Grace,” he murmured, and unexpectedly bowed before me with the deepest respect.

“My wife and I have come to inquire about your building,” I smoothly remarked. “We are looking for potential lodgings for a numerous army that is expected to come in a day or two. We would like a look around.”

“Oh, but…” He bit down on the inside of his right cheek, looking as nervous as ever. “You couldn’t possibly use this one.”

“Oh, and why not?”

“Its an orphanage, your Grace.” He noticed a certain expression flash across my wife’s face, a thing I was ignorant of until the man commented, “Its been set up ever since you took Winterfell back,” he addressed to Sansa. “But we had it for a while now, its just never been in a lodging quite like this.” The man opened the door wider and motioned his hand for us to walk inside. “I’m mighty proud of this place! Done me a lot of good, atoning for my sins and all that. The old gods have forgiven me, but I think this was the task they had asked me to take.” The lodging was open with no walls around us, and I could see from the front end to the back by simply looking through the open doorway. I took a step forward, finding the room just as cold as it was outside. Candlelight caught my attention, scattered along the lonely walls of this room while a large group of children sat on the floor in the center of it.

“There are so many,” Sansa observed, after she placed her bare hand into my gloved one. “I never knew there was so much.”

“A little over sixty,” the dark-haired man replied, as he scratched the side of his neck while looking at us. “Half of them lost their parents in the Young Wolf’s war,” he began. “We were victorious of course, until your Uncle’s wedding,” he said with some regret. “The other half had their parents horribly beaten, flayed and then killed by Ramsay Bolton and his followers.” He shook his head mournfully as he dug his dirty nails into the side of his cheek. “Then there is Theon Greyjoy,” he added. “Winterfell has been hit hard, your Grace, so I am grateful you managed to put some order back into the North.”

The footsteps behind us knocked hard against the solid wood, and when I looked over my shoulder I had saw Darin and five of my guards slowly creep into the lodging as well.

“Why has the rent not been paid?” I questioned this haggard looking man, who nervously looked at the long stream of guards.

“I have no money,” he said in truth. “There is food back in the North, and trade has been better. Still, there are less eager donors than before, and the act of charity has sunk over the last several months. It’s the fear of war I think, it makes people hold onto their money a little tighter.”

“Then I will give you the money,” I said without contrition. Sansa’s grip around my hand tighten substantially, enough for me to turn my gaze in her direction. “We would be happy to do so.”

“And food,” Sansa added, since she had caught sight of the small morsel’s of food being handed out by the servants in the center of the room. We were in the shadows, but the children’s hungry faces could clearly be seen by the bright candlelight. “And better lodgings if we can find one.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” a weak voice replied, as the man was clearly affected by the news. “Would you like to come inside to have a closer look? I am sure the children would be most happy.”

“Yes,” Sansa replied for us, and squeezed my hand with excitement before she led me forward. The children were too busy laughing and talking to notice us right away, but soon their attention gravitated towards the front of the lodging once they realized their master was holding up his arm to get their attention. In small groups they raised their hand in the air as well, and pretty soon the room fell into a comfortable silence with a few whispers of excitement.

“Can I have your attention,” the man called out, after he finally dropped his arm back to his side. “We have a few honoured guests in this room.”

The whispers grew louder, as they tried to guess the two strangers standing beside him. Sansa leaned herself into me, and I let go of her hand to wrap my arm around the small of her waist. She was pleased at the sight of the children, and I knew her thoughts were turning to our own. I watched her hand land right over her belly as the man took his time introducing us, and I felt a warmth in my heart the moment her pale blue eyes caught mine.

The room shook with cheer, which captured Sansa’s and I attention almost immediately, and we noticed how the children were standing on their feet with excitement once they realized who we were. They ran towards us, despite the man’s remonstrations, eager to swarm us in a circle with their hands eagerly touching us to see if his words were true. I couldn’t help but laugh as Sansa accidentally fell into me, and I covered her with a strong arm to keep her firmly at her feet.

“Children!” the man yelled out in a deep booming voice, and that seemed to calm the children down to a tolerable state. “These are honoured guests and you should behave appropriately,” he warned. The room fell silent for the second time, but it was tense enough for even Sansa to have trouble looking at me.

“If you could please allow my wife some space,” I spoke up for the first time, which made the children scuttle backwards in surprise. “She is pregnant, and I don’t want anything to happen to her,” I explained, once they looked terrified to even be around her.

“She’s having a baby!” one of the girl’s asked, a tiny little thing with a sweet disposition that I liked immediately.

“She is.” The crowd cooed with happiness and quickly asked over a dozen questions at the same time. They were just as excited as us, and even the dire state of their dress and coldness of the room could not detract them from this moment. “We don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy,” I lied, and that only made them talk among themselves even louder.

“I prefer a girl,” Sansa answered one of the children. “Petyr wants a boy.”

“I never said that,” I argued back, after the girl’s in the room booed at me. It was all in good fun, for the boys were quick to argue back with a few chants that boys were better. The animated crowd pushed my wife unintentionally, which made Sansa fall into my chest a little more with her arms tightly wrapped around my entire waist.

“How old are you?” a small boy asked, probably six or seven judging by his age.

“I am one hundred and twenty-two years old,” I lied.

“Really?” he asked with a large smile.

“No, you’re not!” a girl yelled back, and judging by their distinctively light ginger coloured haired they were siblings. “You’re not that old.”

“Oh.”

“You have grey hair,” another child yelled.

“I like the greys,” Sansa admitted, which brought a swarm giggles from the girls in the room. It grew louder when Sansa smoothed her hand over the side of my temple closest to her, and one of the older boys in the room blew out a whistle in a taunting manner. I puckered my lips at her but thought it unwise to kiss her just now.

“I think your pretty,” a little girl piped up, who looked just above the age of four. Sansa lifted her off the ground and cradled the girl in her arms in a motherly way as she expressed her gratitude at that. _She will make a wonderful mother,_ I realized, finding my lips curl into a smile as I watched her speak admiration to the child. _And they will be just as beautiful as her._

“Petyr, hold Abigail,” my wife ordered, presumably getting the child’s name before she placed the little girl in my arms. “I want to take a good look at you both.”

Abigail wrapped her arms around my neck affectionately, unexpectedly kissing the side of my cheek after I gave her a smile. “Oh,” I stammered out with surprise, at a loss of what words to use by this open display of affection. The child reached up to touch my greys, just as Sansa had done moments before.

“Petyr,” Sansa cried out, and when I locked eyes with her it looked so soft and full of love. “I want this,” she mouthed, and then brushed her hand down the back of my head to savour this moment for just a moment more. Abigail tore my attention away, when she prodded her finger into my ear, a thing that made me leap off my feet slightly with a fit of giggles. “Abigail stop,” Sansa scolded, and immediately took the girl from my arms. “We don’t put our fingers into people’s ears.”

“Why not?” the girl demanded with an innocent look.

The crowd around us were quick to answer Abigail’s inquiry, and she learned soon enough that you don’t do that to people, especially if they’re the King. The swarm of children were determined to grab our attention as they tugged on the sleeves of our cloakes with a dozen more questions. “Can we see your sword?” one of the boys called out and were disappointed when they saw I was practically unarmed. A worn dagger did not capture their imagination like a King’s sword, and I took a mental note that I should have one of the blacksmiths prepare one for me soon. _If only they knew I can barely use a wooden one,_ I thought, and noticed Sansa was desperately trying to cover her giggles as the boys in the room hammered me with questions about sword fighting, tourneys and the war to come. Sansa attention was steered away too; inquires about her fashionable dresses, of handsome knights and dragons, and all the songs that little girls loved to hear was poured out of their mouths and onto my young wife who used to believe in those fairy tale songs as well.

_Life’s not a song,_ was portrayed on her face, as a broken expression flashed across her sad blue eyes. _She had learned it to her sorrow._

“How did you two meet?” one of the eldest girls in the room asked, with her brother leaning his head against her stomach as he stood in front of her. She was about fourteen years old, perhaps to old to be residing in a place like this, though the sickly-looking boy in front of her made it clear he needed constant attention. “Was it love at first sight?”

_Does that even exist,_ I wondered, _and felt it was not the case for Sansa and I._

“We met at a tourney,” I told her matter of factly.

Sansa grabbed a hold of my arm to pull me into her frame possessively. “He told me the most gruesome tale,” she began, and paused as the children’s _oohhhss_ grew louder. “Of a boy pushing his younger brother’s face into the fire.” The girl’s in the room let out a frightful cry, but the boys reacted by pushing their friends around and re-enacting the scene. “But that is a terrible thing to do,” Sansa declared loudly to the room, which evidently made the silly boys stop their misbehaviour. “For a man of honour would never do that,” she continued. “He would be kind and take care of his younger brothers and sisters.”

“Like me!” one of the children yelled out. “Or me,” said another, and soon half of the crowd were declaring they had done the same with a prideful air about them.

“And that is what you should do,” Sansa relayed in a severe tone of voice. “My brother, Robb, did the same, and I miss him dearly because of it. So, you see, you must cherish your siblings for as long as you can.”

“And if not,” I piped up. “If you are an only child like myself, than you should treat your parents with the same respect.” I paused realizing my error, but quickly added in, “Or your guardians, or any other adult that is taking care of you.”

“Did you have parents?” a boy asked in a deep voice, with a scar across the right side of his face that made me slightly grimace. _He looks like a child of war,_ I mused, _of hardship_.

“I lost my mother at a very early age,” I considered aloud. “Much younger than you.” The children looked at me hard, realizing I had suffered the same loss as them. “My father cared for me, but he was very poor. He couldn’t take care of me and wanted a better life, so he sent me away.”

Some of the children made sad murmuring among themselves, probably sympathizing with this man that was their King. “In a way, I was very much an orphan like you,” I deliberated aloud. “I know what its like to grow up without a father and mother. To not remember their face…” I stopped, once I felt Sansa’s hand smooth over the top of my back, probably getting a sense of the feelings that were slowly coming over me. “But I did everything I could to make a better life for myself, and I want you to strive for the same. Don’t let your name hold you back. Your station… your current problems or hardships, because if you try hard enough you can climb the ladder.” I offered a false smile that did not reach my eyes as I offered, “A ladder to a better life.”

“How?” the same boy asked me, while he scratched at his arm as if there was a fearsome itch underneath his thin black shirt.

“By asking for help,” I told him. “By doing your best in everything. Make the right connections or friends; be willing to make sacrifices if it will lead to a common good.”

“Petyr could write a book on it,” Sansa joked. _Maybe I will._

“That’s your name?” the same boy asked out with a lopsided grin. “That’s my name too.”

“Nice to meet you, Petyr,” I laughed, and laid my hand on his shoulder in a fatherly way. “If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?”

“I don’t know.”

“You never thought of it.”

“I want to see the sea,” he told me. “And find the Greyjoys.”

“For revenge,” I spoke softly.

“I want to kill them.”

“It will not bring your family back to life,” I reasoned. I bent down on one knee to get at his level and pulled his shoulder forward, so I could speak in a softer tone of voice. “I was like you once,” I breathed into his ear. “Don’t go down that road, it does not give you that same reward you had hoped to find.” The boy leaned back to catch my eyes, wondering if my words were true. “I did something horrible, and it nearly cost me my life,” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me as the same man that died in Winterfell halls only a few months before. “Bad things can happen to bad people. Good things can sometimes happen to good people. Other times it does, and then other times it doesn’t. The thing to remember is we can’t always care out our revenge, sometimes we have to leave it to the gods…” I stroked my fingers over the scar over my neck, and the boy was quick to catch my meaning when I pulled the neck of my tunic down. His eyes widened with alarm, so I let the thick fabric fall back into place. “And they give their own punishment in kind.”

“Who did that to you?”

“Someone called ‘honour’ and another ‘justice,’” I said in jest. I stood back onto my feet with my arm still over his shoulder as I remarked, “But you did not ask what the gods did to them?” I laughed.

“They made them suffer as well,” Sansa lightly replied, since she caught some of the words I was advising to the boy.

“Forgiveness is the only solution,” I assured the young boy whose eyes were glassy with tears of anger. I wrapped my arm around the back of his neck and pulled him into my chest, patting his back eagerly as I could sense the rage that was soon to implode within him. “Maybe you have to go to the sea to see that.” I paused for a moment as I felt the boy’s hand grip the thick cloth of my cloak fervently. “I will help you get there,” I promised, and then pushed the boy backwards until I could see his face. “Would you want too?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I have a scout going off to the Iron Islands to pass on a message. Would you like to go?”

“Yes.”

“Killing him won’t solve your problems,” I reminded him. “But when you meet Theon Greyjoy you will find he is a different man.”

“Ramsay broke him,” Sansa feebly gave out, and I noticed how chilly it felt in the large lodging at the mention of his name. _That man has hurt more than just my wife,_ I realized, _as I watched the children almost shudder at the mention of his name._ _What horrors did they see before we came to their rescue,_ I worried, _enough to make them shiver with fright?_

“I still want to kill him,” the boy murmured under his breath.

“Everyone wants to kill everyone I find. Once you get to my age, you realize… killing them doesn’t make a difference. The pain still hurts.” I laid a hand over my heart and used my other hand to lay it against my wife’s as well. “In here.”

“Ramsay is dead, and he still haunts me,” Sansa admitted aloud. She pressed her hands against the back of mine, pressing it harder against my chest as she added, “His death means _nothing._ Killing Theon will mean nothing, and its because that hole you feel will never go back to normal. I had my family be cut down one by one by the Lannisters… the Freys and Bolton’s, all of my enemies.” She let out a small sigh as she carried my hand down to the front of her stomach. “But the only thing that could take away this pain wasn’t death… it was _life._ ”

“Our child,” I explained to the mournful crowd of children. “Its that which gives us hope.”

“Looking around…” Sansa exclaimed, with her eyes scanning the sixty or so children quietly standing in front of us. “… this room gives me hope as well. I feel better about our future… about the North.”

“And we will do everything we can to make your lives better,” I swore. “Comfortable lodgings, food, jobs for the older children… a place to play for the younger ones.”

“Toys?” one of the boys screamed out.

“Toys,” I assured him. “And families if you wish, ones that are eager to have beautiful children such as yourselves.”

“Will you take us?” the same boy asked.

“I don’t know,” I breathed out. “We would have to talk about it.”

Sansa gripped my hand a little tighter, and I knew this would be one of the serious subjects we would have to discuss in the coming days. _I’m not sure if I’m ready to take on a ward just now,_ I contemplated, _but was not I a ward at their age?_

A small glimpse of the past and I could still see a small, scrawny looking boy with dark moppy hair nearly covering his face as he stood at the gates of Riverrun. The same boy with a small bag over his shoulders, a penny-less boy without a name or good fortune, but an ambition that took him to the highest levels of the realm. “We will talk of it,” I assured the group of children, and then peacefully made my goodbyes before I led Sansa out the room.

The master of this place followed us out with a gleeful look about him, evidently pleased that the children would be properly taken care of from now on. “I never told you my name,” he offered out, with an outstretched hand. “Gregory Picks.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I replied, and shook his hand firmly. “Will be coming back tomorrow morning with some supplies.”

“Thank you again.”

“And I would like to talk to Petyr alone.”

“Spells it different,” he blurted out. “P-E-T-E-R!” he yelled out, as if I didn’t speak a word of English. “His father was a carpenter. Did nothing wrong but they tortured him and his wife anyways, and then set the place on fire. The boy was hidden in a small cupboard and somehow managed to escape before the fire grew worse. Escaped without a scratch I heard-”

“But his face,” I interrupted, and drew the severed line across my cheek to show it was something I could hardly forget.

“Not all the Northerns are nice,” he simply replied, but I could tell there was anger hidden behind his eyes. “I was lucky to have him passed off to me.”

“Yes.”

“Come ‘round tomorrow, and I’ll give you sometime to talk to Peter alone. Maybe you can fix him.”

“I will try.”

“Happy the two of you stumbled to this old place,” he expressed with feeling. “Run down old thing, but it keeps the children safe.”

Sansa sweet sounding voice quietly replied, “And that’s all that matters. We will see you first thing tomorrow.”

“Most kind,” he muttered, as we softly walked away from him and fell under the light fluffy snow that was descending from the sky. It was late into the evening at this point, and the sky was darkening to signal the end of the day. Darin was listing out the places to still visit, but Sansa and I were tired from our long journey and informed this ambitious young man that we wanted to return home.

Darin took the news sullenly but respected our wishes with his usual ease and grace. “I think you did the right thing,” he told me, once Sansa walked towards one of the guards to retrieve her horse. “Telling that young boy the truth.”

“I say the same thing to you.”

“You tell me to watch out for my ambitions.”

“I tell you to use it wisely,” I rebutted. “What is it that you want Darin?”

“You’ve given me so much already,” he remarked, and patted the newly acquired horse to prove his point. “I don’t need anything else.”

“A man always wants something.”

“Put me in charge of the Northern Citadel,” he informed me with a forcefulness to his voice.

“In charge of what, exactly?”

“The operations,” he quickly replied. “A lot of my friends work there, and they complain the work is hard.”

“They get good wages!”

“But the conditions are cold and harsh,” he reasoned. “Give me a few days to look over the area and talk to the people. Maybe I can come up with some solutions,” he suggested. He watched me climb onto my horse, eager for an answer. “We have a lot of men working, but we can have even more! And I know you want the Citadel built as fast as possible.”

“It’s the middle of winter, Darin, I can wait.”

“You are just ambitious as me! I know you can wait, but I also know you have plans for that place.”

“The Building of Knowledge,” I exclaimed. “May never be completed if we don’t win this war. One brick at a time, Darin.” He gaped at me as I trotted my horse away from him and led it towards Sansa who was impatiently waiting at the front of the line.

“The two of you are inseparable,” she complained.

“Don’t be jealous, sweetling.”

“What were you talking about?”

“He wants to oversee and improve the construction of our Northern Citadel.”

“Let him.”

“Why?” I asked, feeling some sense of betrayal.

“If you want him to grow up, then you need to clip that tight string of yours and let him fly away.”

I chuckled aloud as I leaned forward on my horse. “What string?” She rolled her eyes at me, before she kneed the side of her foot into the horse. “Sansa?”

“It will also give you more time to practice at the training yard.” She ignored my groan, and quickly added, “I heard you have a new instructor?”

“Yes, the page boy was no challenge for me.”

“I should hope not, given that he was ten years old,” she said with pure sarcasm. “You are fighting a man this time?”

“No, a woman.”

She eyed me with distrust, and then shook her head with slight amusement. “I can’t tell if your joking or not.”

“Its Lord Farquhar’s son,” I informed her. “Garret.”

“Any good?”

“To a certain degree. No formal training, but he’s awfully good with his sword.”

“You should get Lord Royce,” she entreated as she watched Darin slowly trotting his way towards us.

“So, he could slice me in half?” I asked in jest. “He won’t stop grumbling over Myranda.”

“He has nothing to worry about, I take good care of you.”

“That’s the problem,” I laughed. “Myranda wishes she was you.”

She noticed Darin’s was ear shot away, but that did not stop her from rapping out, “It will make you think twice where you put your cock next time.”

“It will,” I slyly replied with an arched eyebrow in her direction. “Any suggestions?”

“Maybe one.”

“Only one,” I replied in a husky voice, even though Darin was riding right next to me.

“Will discuss it tonight,” Sansa said with an air of finality, and then turned her face away to hide that awful grin of hers. _I fully intend too,_ I thought, as I wore a grin as equally mischievous as her own.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about all of you, but I'm excited to see Petyr as a dad ;) Feel free to rave about it in the comment section below.
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish


	76. Husband and Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Clarissa-DN38416. Wishing you a happy anniversary on Ao3 and looking forward to your future fics. 
> 
> For everyone else I hope you enjoy the fluff (Yes, I can write fluff), and hope it gets you out of that deep hole I created from my last couple of fics aka "Something More" 
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope it cheers you up a bit :)

**Sansa**

I grew restless, laying on the bed while waiting for my husband was trying my patience. “Petyr?”

“Another minute, love,” he called out from the bathroom, his voice echoing from that room and beyond till it carried over to me. I had no patience for one more minute. One of the heavy fur blanket was laid over my shoulders until I felt warm enough to slink out of the bed.

I found Petyr in the bathroom, rubbing his hand over a long purple bruise that stretched across the side of his left waist. He grunted quietly, unaware that I was watching before he reached forward to apply some oils over the bruise. “You're hurt?”

He looked over his shoulder, displeased that I should see him like this. “Its nothing,” he lied, and turned his head away so he could not see my shocked expression further.

“Have you shown Maester Tarly?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, and then applied it to the lower half of his hip as well. I walked over to him, surprised to see so many marks that were left all over his body. Upon closer inspection I instinctively knew the bruises were from a wooden sword. Petyr watched me worriedly when I placed myself before him, not fighting back when I cradled his head in my hands. “Maybe you should stop.”

“If it was a true enemy I would have more than these bruises.”

“You're hurt.”

“It will pass,” he drawled out cunningly with a low tremor to his voice. “I want to be prepared for our enemies. Cersei's army is approaching faster than we anticipated. The armies mobility is gaining speed, for they carry very little belongings and I have heard they pillage any villages they trespass and gain from the people's grain and food stocks to make them stronger.”

“Yes, but we have an army of our own,” I reminded him.

“It is not only that,” Petyr scolded. “News travel to me from my spies located in the Eyrie and the Riverlands. They say they’ve never seen an army like it. They are conquerors, men knowing nothing but blood and war. I have had two try to integrate themselves into the army for reasons of subtle deception, hoping to gain knowledge of their army and their weaknesses. I have heard nothing. Sansa, the Golden Company cannot be bought away with bribes; not even the gold I have can buy _such_ an army. Our only option is to defeat them. I anticipate the arrival of the Unsullied so we can lay out plans as soon as possible, accounting for the variety of factors that work for and against us.”

I smoothed my hand over his cheek softly, not liking the hint of worry in his azure blue eyes. “What can work against us?”

“We have a fortress with strong walls, but it has fallen by our enemies before.”

“It won’t this time.”

“Our weakness is the town we visited over an hour ago. An area that can house an army as large as the Golden Company if they so wish too.” Petyr lightly set my hand away from him, so he could finish applying the oils to his red and purple wounds he had encountered early this morning. “It would be wise to make those houses barely livable. The problem is of course, so many of our people live there. Trades, market place, all of this is at stake.”

“What do you suggest?” I asked, as I wrapped the blanket around my shivering frame once more. It was late at night, and I preferred being cuddled up with Petyr instead of talking about the art of war.

“Move them behind our walls,” he piped up. Petyr lifted his foot on the counter and rubbed the oil down the length of his right leg were similar marks were. “Leave nothing for Cersei's army. It should either be a long or short war, and nothing ever good came from a long one.” Petyr replaced the spot with his left leg, paying particularly to the mark just over his left knee. “There must be no room to escape. Our men must defend Winterfell to their last breath, any thought of refuge would create weakness and cause our men to flee.”

“And since when did you become an expert on this?”

“I read,” he quipped. Petyr set his left foot down on the floor and turned to me with his entire body shining from the oils he had begrudgingly applied. The oils had an odd scent, strong like crushed plants in the palm of your hand; I missed the familiar scent of his mint and sage. “There are scrolls of wars gone by, before our time. Maps too, highly detailed that point out the castle's strength and similarly its weaknesses. I had asked Maester Tarly to take care of them, ensuring no one sees them but me.”

“Why?” I asked, while still shivering in the middle of the bathroom floor.

“If I am able to acquire spies, so will others.”

“Varys?”

“There is no benefit for Cersei’s army to win. The Eunuch would have the same fate as ourselves.”

“But you said ‘spies,’” I reminded him. Petyr turned his back to me, and opened his silver casing to place a stray mint leaf in his mouth. He chewed on it gingerly as I watched him, wanting a quiet moment for me to figure out the answer for myself. “You think someone is watching us?”

“We have many friends, but many enemies as well,” he mused aloud. He walked towards me and steadily laid his open hands over my blanket that I wore over my shoulders. He inclined his face forward, the fresh breath of mint filled the air around us. “It was you, who told me that your brother warned of an impending betrayal.”

“And I thought it was you.”

“No,” he drawled. “It wasn’t me.”

“Arya.”

“Maybe,” he scarcely breathed. “But that was before I even took a step into Winterfell’s gates. Besides, there is a difference between _revenge_ … and betrayal.”

“Lying to me is betrayal,” I corrected him, and ignored the jabbing of the right side of his mouth before it fell downward in regret. “But that is behind us now.”

He dropped his head slightly in submission before he uttered out, “Thank you, Sansa.”

“I have something to give you.” I reached for his hand, which felt warm and smooth from the layer of oil still lathered against the palm of his hand. I took him to into our main chamber room, steering him forward until I had him stop at the largest of my clothing chests. “I want you to decide…” I unraveled one of my fine linen dresses, at the corner of the chest and unearthed the two secret items. “What to do with them.”

“My pin?” he breathed out in a thin wiry voice, startled to see it blotted with stains of blood. “Is this?”

I wavered over his heated glare, filled with anger and pain. “I'm sorry, Pete,” I whispered, and then let my eyes fall down to the floor in shame.

“How…” Petyr held out the pin in front of him, not wanting to hold onto it any longer. “… did you get it?”

“I took it off before I sent you away,” I relayed. “Back to the Fingers.”

“Ah,” he uttered with pain.

“I regretted it, even then,” I pleaded. Petyr batted his eyes slowly, eyes water slightly with the remembrance of that fateful day all coming back to him again. His breathing was haggard and sharp, and all I could do was drop the fur blanket off me and quickly wrap my arms around him. I knew I triggered something he desperately tried to suppress, and did my best to soothe him until the worst was over. “We have both done wrong.”

“Ah,” he moaned. “No I’ve done worse.”

I placed my hands over his cheek and chided, “We both did.” I eased myself out of his arms and unraveled the last of the linen dress to show the dagger that started it all. “See,” I pleaded, and showed him the blue hilted dagger that was once placed on my father's throat and his.

“Sansa…”

“I want you to get rid of it.”

“Where?” he murmured softly. “Why?”

“Because the past is the past.”

“It’s the future that’s all worth waiting for,” he said with a knowing air.

“But no one must find it.”

“Then you are just as guilty as I am.”

I reached for his hand and flipped it upwards so I could see the sweltering bruises and marks that nicked the tops of his knuckles. There was a time when they were smoothed and pristine, but even the tips of his fingertips had gone hard and callous. He was a man changed, a person that would do just about anything to protect me. “We are in this together,” I softly replied, and lovingly kissed the back of his hands with closed lids.

Petyr instantly removed the bond of white cloth from my other hand and tossed it to the floor before he steered me towards the bed with his hands gripping my waist. I fell into it gently, letting him wrap his strong arm around me before he rolled me over in the bed. I was laying on top of him, Petyr's head rested on one of our fluffy pillow with his eyes crinkling around the corner with pleasure. “Do you know how much I Iove you?”

His smile broaden when I stroked the bottom of his goatee. “A lot.”

“More than you could possibly ever know.”

“Petyr, I love you too,” I breathed, before his lips hit me. He kissed me nice and slow, savouring every second our lips were connected before he returned to my lips his again. I was his Queen, his wife, his love- maybe even everything to him at that moment. He muttered my name every so often, feverishly sweeping his hands down the sides of my arm and back. He was intoxicated by me, soaring on this profound realization that I had forgiven him fully. Petyr's eyes were wide as he watched me untie my dark plum coloured night gown, letting the silk elegantly slip sown my shoulders until my chest was bare to him. He closed his eyes peacefully, decorating my breast with ardent kisses, placing his fiery breath upon my once cold skin while I ran my fingers through his hair.

“You are so beautiful,” he hushed with a quiver to his voice. “I can't believe you’re all mine.” Taunt lips cemented itself over the budding peak of my breast, taking turns sucking and lapping with closed lips until I moaned aloud. I positioned myself over him, telling him I was ready. The thin layer of small clothes was in the way, and I slyly removed it taking note of the dampness in the front by his already dripping cock. Petyr used his hands to steer me back on top of him, strategically placing the tip of his cock over my womanhood in a teasing gesture. “Wait,” he murmured, and let one of his hand slink down between us to stroke a finger across my clit. I made a noise, which he caught with his ears and then his eyes which glanced in my direction with a maddening look about him. “I like doing this to you,” he confessed, and did it again. I grunted while I pushed my hand down as well, laying it over my husband's own callous hand so I could direct it to the spot I needed most. Petyr took my cue, and rested his left hand over the curve of my ass to level me into him, steering me into the right direction while both of our hands worked together to put me on a high. “Do you want it faster, sweetling?”

“Uh huh.”

“Say please,” he taunted, while he moved his left hand downwards to forcibly spread my legs further apart.

“Please,” I wheezed. Petyr played with my clit in a teasing manner before I had no choice but to wail a thank you to this tiresome man, and then make the tiniest of squeaks when he suddenly used his left hand to push down on my ass to grind me against him.

“Its up to you to take the lead for once.” He winked up at me, and gladly sat back to watch me ride away into his hardened member, spreading my hips out more to feel every keen sensation his cock could bring. Petyr was also a victim to this strange sensation, never really knowing when I thrust myself against him, and soon he had no choice but to rest his hands on the sides of my hip for added stability. “Sansa,” he harkened out, eyes darkened to a terrible state before he swooped forward and kissed my lips whole.

“Petyr,” I responded for half a second, before his lips landed on me again. Petyr rubbed his hands up my sides, and then placed both hands over my drooping breasts. He squeezed them tightly with both hands, having possession of both my body and soul. “Pete,” I murmured as he kissed me hard on my cheek, brushing the bridge of his nose against it with his goatee slightly tickling my face. I was drowning in the scent of mint, lost in the paradise of being in his arms.

Petyr rolled me over on his bed while whispering, “My beautiful wife.” He ever so gently finished the job, thrusting into me slowly at a timely pace so we could both enjoy the final build up. “If only she knew the love I wish to give her.” I swooped my hand around the back of his head and brought it forward until it was pressed firmly to my own. He let me kiss his jawline as he made love to me; chest heaving with the build up to the point I could almost feel them both ramming against our cages. “I love you so much,” he confessed, while his nails gripped my hips fiercely.

“Petyr, I do too.”

It was then I realized that even sex wasn’t enough to express the love and devotion we had for one another. It was a mere fragment of our feelings, a light touch onto each other's souls. I was his, and he was mine now- nothing in this world could ever separate it.

I begged Petyr to stay in me when he was done, even when the peak had subsided I still wanted him in me. Petyr gratefully obeyed, and took his sweet time kissing my raw flesh that took on a soft pink hue from our exertion. “Are you happy, sweetling?”

“I am.”

“I gave you pleasure?” he glanced up, his brow drenching with sweat and threatening to get into his eyes.

“Yes, Petyr,” I assured him, as I rubbed his brow with the soft padding of my thumb. “But you always do.”

It was my husband that allowed me to trust what a man could do to a woman’s body. Ramsay had brought me nothing but horror and pain; Petyr was sweet, tender and ever so attentive to my growing needs. Only with him could I be free, and I felt a small chain of many was falling off one by one in my mind. I would never forget what Ramsay had done, but Petyr had found a way to ease my pain. His soft whisperings of “I'm right here” and “You can trust me” had allowed me to come this far with him. Yes, there were nights when I would shun him because of a simple trigger: a wrong touch or word, a growling sound that sounded more like a beast than man and I would instantly fling him off me. Petyr would soothe me back into his arms, taking care to never do it again. Our wedding night was almost ruined when he forced himself upon me from behind, but he had learned his error and now Petyr was almost fearful to suggest such a thing to me again. _The whoremonger is forced to take things slow, oh the irony._

“You should get some sleep,” Petyr suggested. I blinked up to watch him removing himself from me with his cock in hand. “Its been a long day.”

We quietly cleaned ourselves up, before we cuddled close together in the center of the bed. His breath blowing against the side of my cheek as Petyr left barely any space between us. “Thank you, Petyr.”

“For what?”

“For being patient with me.”

“I can say the same to you.”

“For loving me.”

“I loved you the moment I first set eyes on you,” Petyr relayed in a calming voice. “And that’s why I can’t believe I have you in my arms now.”

I was left speechless with his words. A soft shutting of the eye was enough to know I was securely safe in his arms, knowing that no amount of harm could ever come to me and my child tonight when I was around a man that loved me so dearly.

“I want our child, Sansa,” he hushed into the silent room.

“It will come.”

“Seeing those children today only made me want him more.”

“Tell me about that vision again.”

In a soft hush he retold the same story again, describing the child as if he was right before our eyes. Petyr's gentle voice persuaded my eyes to close, and I somehow found myself falling asleep in the warmth of his arms.

* * *

A group of girls were behind me braiding my long hair as I sat down on an old wooden stool. The boys were outside playing with Gregory and Petyr, so it was up to me entertain the girls in the orphanage. They wanted to hear about the stories of the past: Winterfell, King's Landing and the Vale described in detail. I made sure to omit all the hardships and horrors I faced, but also made a point to recognize these places were not out of a song. _They should never make the same mistake as me. I was so foolish to believe in them._

The young ladies giggled when I described the first time meeting Petyr, wanting to hear the whole of it from start to finish with eager eyes. “I wasn’t much older than you,” I told them, though my height and womanly figure made me look like a girl already flowered. Petyr wasn’t some brave gallant knight in my story, instead he was presented as an ambitious small lordling that had the right connections and charm to woo every man or woman into his back pocket. _He tried to woo me,_ I remembered, but it was never Littlefinger that enticed me. The sweet man behind the mask had burrowed a small hole into my heart, and the realization that we were more alike than originally perceived solidified that ever growing affection.

The cheerful screams coming from outside our walls grew louder, and even I had trouble concentrating when relaying tales to the children. I caught Petyr's laughter in the air, and thought it was high time I figure out what the hell is going on. In a strict voice I ordered the girl's to put on their winter clothes and had them in a neat and orderly line in front of the main entranceway. “Lets see what all the boys are making such a fuss about!” I yelled out, after I covered my half braided hair with a heavily clothed hood. I opened the door and stepped out onto the wooden platform to find the area completely empty. In the distance I could see some of the guards on watch, and their attention seemed to be focused on the side of the house where the cheering was coming from.

“Got you!” echoed in the winter air, followed by a sharp cry that it wasn't fair. A fit of hysterical laughter quickly followed as we heard pounding on the side of the building, it was enough to alarm the girl's and I.

“Retreat!” a deep voice called out not to far from us, which made thirty or so girls swarm themselves around me in fright. “Protect the King!” the same voice ordered, and then we heard pounding footsteps coming in our direction. The girls screamed out as a large group of boys came running in our direction with their arms over their head in protection.

“Run!” one of the older boys cried out, and when we looked over the pack of boys that were running for their lives we could see their cause for alarm.

“Sansa, get inside!” Petyr laughed and pointed towards the half open door. It was too late, their enemies were upon as and soon a hard pack of snow flew in the air and shattered with the impact on the wall beside me. The girl's screamed out with excitement, realizing we walked right in the middle of a snowball fight. “Protect the Queen,” Petyr ordered, though there was a shadow of a smirk over his face. The boys created a wall in front of us, taking the brunt of the fire as the girls frantically fled back in through the doorway. “I got you,” Petyr teased as he wrapped himself around me from behind; the chaos meant nothing to him as long as I was safe in his arms.

“You do,” I chided, as he tightened his hold on me. “Petyr, your hands are cold.”

“Anything for my Lady.” He turned his back to the line of fire, letting himself get hit by snowballs as he navigated me to the open doorway where the children were screaming out my name.

“You mean, your Grace,” I corrected, as we very nearly reached the doorway.

“But, of course,” quipped Petyr, before he gently shoved me threw the open doorway. “Stay here,” he ordered as he tried to hide his childish grin, and then ducked down low to get his men to leave their station. “Retreat!” he yelled out. “We need higher ground!”

We could hear their heavy steps pounding on the wooden platform on the other side of the door as they ran away from the orphanage ground. It wasn't long before similar footsteps followed, and the low grumbling of Gregory snarling out, “Let's get ‘em!” proved to me that this war was far from over.

The young girl's were impossible to control at this point, too excited by the boys snowball fight to sit still. “Could we go back out?” they begged, even though they were clearly aware of the danger.

“You'll get hurt,” I warned, but the girls were most obstinate to go. “The boys might change their mind and attack us all at once,” I reasoned, but no amount of warning could detract them from their cause. I peaked open the door to see no one around, and then sent Abigail and her friend, Shannon, to take a look ahead and see if they could spot the boys. Meanwhile, I sent out small groups of girls to gather snow and create snowballs that were light but held enough impact to take the boys by surprise. “Alright, remember to get Gregory's men,” I warned, as we waited for our two spies to come back. Shannon and Abigail eventually came back running hand to hand, and excitedly whispered they were not to far from the orphanage building.

“Just follow the King's guards,” Shannon pointed out, with a look of maturity that showed she was well beyond her years. “Its easy! And Gregory’s group has his back to us, which means we can sneak up behind them.”

“Let’s go, girls,” I sassily said, and took the smallest girl’s hands in mind before I led the way. We came upon them after a few minutes and after a count of three we threw our snowballs at the same time, hitting the boys at the back of their heads with perfect aim. “Hold your ground,” I charged, when some of the girls wanted to flee. “Attack in three seconds,” I warned, despite the boys gathering up snow to attack us in return,

“One!” Petyr called out from his own encampment, with only his head peaking out from a small worn down wooden fence with the rest of his men. “Two!”

Gregory and his group froze, realizing they were about to attack on either side. “Three!” we yelled out at the same time, and then flung the snowballs into the air to land on our enemies. They stood to their feet and we responded by smacking them with snowballs until they had no choice to flee with their captain hot on their tails. Petyr's group leaped over the fence and ran after them, but Petyr lingered behind with a pure look of victory.

“San,” he teased, as he stretched out his ice cold hand for me to take. “Thank you for the help, sweetling.” Petyr leaned forward to press his lips against my cheek, ignoring the cute little giggles coming from the younger girls around us. “Oh would you like a kiss too?” he teased, which made the girls run away from him and those wandering hands that tried to catch them. “No one wants my kiss,” he complained, a sly wink followed and then his hands eagerly clasped my coat to pull me in.

He was pulling down my hood when I warned him to stop, but he ignored the curious crowd of girl's and leaned his head forward for a kiss. I rolled my eyes at my husband, and he replied by simply puckering his lips slightly. “Another time,” I chided, before I leaned forward for a chaste kiss. Petyr, being Petyr wasn't satisfied with that, so over the cackling of the boys and hush giggles of the girls he pulled my entire weight forward against his chest and kissed me with supreme longing I was not exactly expecting. Aroused by this new feeling I eagerly kissed him back, jabbing my tongue ever so subtly into his mouth so the children wouldn't see. Unfortunately, the two of us kissing was enough for them to flee to the herd of boys that were fighting on the very top of a nearby hill. Petyr tilted my head back in his direction, glaring at me with eyes almost grey when he was so very nearly aroused by my playful behaviour. “That was very naughty, Sansa.”

“Was it?” I sly fully asked in a sultry voice.

“Careful.”

“Or what?”

He grunted rather loudly, clearly annoyed this wasn’t the time or place to give in to his desires. His eyes flickered from the right to left, probably wishing their was a dark corner for him to find some assistance.

I chuckled next to his ear, and then laid my hands on either side of his face before I kissed those luscious lips of his. He moaned deeply, frantically sending his hands downward until he could cup my ass. I opened my eyes to give him a look, in which he replied, “No one is behind you, sweetling.”

“They are watching us from the hill over there.”

“They can’t see where my hands are,” he commented, and smacked my ass lightly to prove it.

My cheeks began to turn an alarming shade of red, and it wasn’t from the cold. “This is new. Are you spending too much time at the training yards?”

“You have a nice one,” he rapped out. “I like to appreciate it now and then.”

Another chaste kiss was given to him before I rapped out, “Later.” The promise of another time let Petyr release me from his arms, but he made sure to give me a sly smack again before the kids could get a good look. _This man has an insatiable desire,_ I thought, after he grabbed a hold of my hand to lead me towards the snowball fight that currently had tell-tale battle of boys versus the girls.

 


	77. Iron or Gold?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Theon**

The golden sunlight gave warmth to the rocky shoreland; a flock of birds flew over our head and landed on a towering jagged rock that quietly announced that we were home. Yara stopped me with her arm against my chest and pointed forward to see ships docked along the bay with a golden kraken decorating the dark sails. _Are we too late,_ I wondered, and turned to her to see the same horrified expression.

“Do you think he’s here?” she asked, as she lowered her arm.

I peaked out from a branch, bending down on one knee to scope out the area. Anson took his place by my side, squinting into the brightened sunlight as well as he shielded half of his face with the back of his hand. “There’s not a lot of them,” he observed. “Two or three.”

“What are they doing here?” I wondered aloud, and then raised myself to my feet so I could creep a little closer. Yara fell close behind me, walking normal now that she had recovered from the wounds the Mountain had left her. I leaped over a boulder and crouched down on a flattened service and eyed the rocky bay further until I could tell if there was real danger up ahead. I could see my home from here, our father’s fortress still proudly standing tall along the black stretch of sand and aqua blue sea. Pyke, the stronghold and great seat of the House of Greyjoy was mine to take. “Let’s go!” I shouted and hopped off the boulder to charge straight towards my rightful seat.

“Its not safe,” Anson urged, as he ran after me. “You know those banners belong to your Uncle.”

“My Uncle wouldn’t leave King’s Landing for nothing. If anything, it only holds men that support him.”

“Men that would gladly kill you and your sister,” he barked back, after Yara took her rightful place by my side. “Send me in, and I can see what I can find out.”

“You are not one of us!” Yara argued and pulled on his grey fur cloak to prove his point. “Was this bought with iron or gold?”

“Huh?”

Yara dropped her hand to her side and gave me a look that proved she was right after all. _Anson doesn’t even understand the difference._ I stopped in my tracks and looked at my apparel, taking note that everything I owned was given to me by the White’s family. “None of us are,” I said aloud, and pointed at Yara’s borrowed clothes as well. “What does it matter? They will not accept us anyways. If we are to win back the Iron Islands, we will have to do it by force.”

“I agree,” Yara piped up, and drew out her sword before she took a step forward. I quickly followed my sister’s footsteps, taking note of how strong she had become over the coming weeks. _I have the White’s to thank for that, and the Starks. I only hope I can live another day to tell them that,_ I thought, as I drew out my silver sheened sword as well.

We climbed up the steep cliff, anxiously crawling on all four at times since the green moss had become slippery with a thin sheet of snow. It was cold up here, and we still had a way to go. I stripped off my jacket and tossed it on the ground behind me, feeling the heavy furs were only dragging me down; my inner clothes were drenched in sweat, and even the hat over my head felt piping hot from my continual exertion. “We’re almost there!” I called out, finding my legs wobbling with tiredness the more we traveled upwards.

Anson, being the oldest was surprisingly fit, and soon he was the one taking the lead and climbing up the last of the steep cliff. I joined him soon enough and saw the curved dirt road that led upwards to the wooden gate with iron bars that blocked our entrance. Yara offered me her hand, and I pulled her upwards until she stood on the dirt road as well. “I took off my cloak too,” she blurted out. “It looked too fine.” She took a step forward as she added, “And I’m not a lady. I’m _Iron Born._ ”

We were just approaching the gates when we heard an arrow swivel through the air and land right in front of our feet. “Who goes there?” called out someone from the guard watch tower.

“Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy!”

Yara voice was even louder when she added, “Yara Greyjoy, daughter of King Balon Greyjoy!” There was no answer to our declaration, and I feared a wooden quiver in the heart would be our sole reply.

“Open the gate,” a man’s voice called out, and soon a grating noise shrilled in the open air as the iron gate moved upward. I took a step forward, watching the first obstacle of many unlock.

I looked over my shoulder to see my sister. “This is _our_ war now,” I declared. Yara nodded her head at me curtly, and then stared ahead to see the wooden gate cracking open as well.

“Tell me brother, when this war is over who will rule the Iron Island?”

“You, of course.” She eyed me carefully, distrusting my words. “Who else?”

“You may not have a cock,” she quipped, as the last of the wooden gate cracked open. “But you’re still a _man._ ”

She took a proud step forward, and then left me at the spot where I needed her most. Anson voice was low and scratchy as he cracked out, “She has a point.”

“Anson, you’re tired.”

“I’m getting old,” he surmised, and patted my shoulder gently before he stepped away. I watched him cross the iron gate, knowing he was stepping under a great threshold. _I have the blood of the Greyjoys’ running through my veins,_ I thought, _and this is my home._

* * *

We were standing in the great hall of the first fortress of Pyke, the second tower that held my father’s quarters were still barred to us. We were surrounded by Iron Born men, all followers of my father many years ago. Time has made the tides turn sour, however,and now their fidelity was towards my Uncle, Euron Greyjoy.

“Why are you here?” asked a man in the front of the room, his hand gripping the curve of a tarnished stone grey seat. He refused to sit on the throne, a wise choice considering the people he had before him. “Well!”

“I have come to reclaim what is mine.”

“It belongs to Euron.”

“Euron is the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” I declared. “He has no need for the Iron Islands now.”

“He is a Greyjoy.”

“I _am_ a Greyjoy!” I bellowed aloud. “Son of a King, Balon Greyjoy.”

“We have chosen to follow Euron.”

“You have chosen!” I mockingly shot back. “Are we to choose who we serve now?” I took a step forward and noticed how the men in the room took a similar step back. “You are Iron Born men, and yet you choose not to follow me.”

“You have pledge allegiance to my father!” Yara shouted out. “So, by the laws of this land you are to follow his son as well.”

“The only thing Iron Born about him is his name,” another man spat out, who was standing off in the shadows of the room. He was an old man draped in grey, with hair dangling down like long seaweed. “Look at him! Why should we follow you, when we have a stronger leader?”

“A leader that sits on the Iron Throne,” I spat out. “What are our words? _Our_ words!” I walked around the center of the room, eyeing the men that stood against us. “We do not sow!” I angrily yelled out. “And you want to follow some man that sits on Iron Throne? A man surrounded by luxury, gold, food, things he did not take by his own hands. He’s a pompous King that lives off the food of the land, and that is the man you choose to follow?”

The room was deafening silent, realizing I had a point. I stood in front of the man in the center of the room, staring into his silvery grey eyes that matched the pepper black hair upon his head. He glared at me hard, not wanting to be the one to break his gaze away first.

“My brother is right,” Yara yelled out, after the silence stretched out for far too long. “He cares nothing for the Iron Islands now. He has rooted his feet into the soil and wood of this earth, while we live and die by the sea. Many of you have served under my command, seen the same things I have seen in the days that my father was alive. He is dead. Killed by my Uncle!” Yara looked at the crowd of men, and then let her sad looking eyes fall over me. “Our _family_ has suffered. Long before the Baratheon and Starks breached our walls and killed my brothers. But now is the time to end that.”

Yara took her place beside me, eyeing the blanched grey throne that stood before us both. _Only one can sit on it,_ I mused, and glanced my eyes over her profile wondering if she was thinking the same thing. “I have suffered from the hands of my Uncle for far too long,” she grieved aloud with a sullen look about her. “What is dead may never die,” she mused aloud, and was surprised to hear me repeat the same words as I stood by her side. “But my Uncle shall die,” she swore, and only then lifted her head to the man that stood behind the great Seastone seat. “He claims he is the storm, but he forgets that even storms die away.”

“The Iron Islands is ours,” I declared to the room, knowing this may very well be my last words. “And your rightful ruler is home.”

The same man with grey hair dangling past his shoulders and chest walked forward with a slight hobble. He was old, very old, and wore a look of another world about him. He had no qualms to approach me from behind, and when he was near enough, he stared at the ancient chair and then directed his gaze to me. “The law is clear,” he stated with a firmness to his voice. “By birthright you are our leader and King, but it is up to the Kingsmoote to choose.”

“The last time it was up to the Kingsmoote to decide,” Yara spoke aloud. “They choose Euron over my brother and I. And look what has become of it?”

“Do you question our decision?”

“I question your loyalties! My father was right to elect me, and you disregarded his dying wish.”

“Your father led us well, but in his old age-”

“- he was as sane as ever,” she feverishly fought back. “You chose Euron over me because he is a man! And only the Drowned Gods will know why you ignored Theon and chose to elect a madman instead.”

“You dare question us,” the man said through gritted teeth.

“I do,” she stated in an equally steely voice.

I stepped in between them, finding the tension would not bode well for either side. “The last time we were all together I gave up my inheritance to my sister because I knew she followed the Iron way. You heard me and ignored my request.” I took a step forward, encroaching upon the man’s space. “I am the last living son of Balon Greyjoy, and I am ready to claim the Salt Throne as my own.”

“You finally grew some balls did you?” he sneered, with spit dribbling over his dry, crusty lips.

“I know what belongs to me.”

“You thought a _woman_ could be King!” he pointed out. “But now you speak like a man from the Iron Islands.”

“The rest of Westeros is ruled by woman, but for the Iron Islands it should be ruled by a man.”

The man shook his head bitterly. “This is true," he admited. "But you will lead us all astray.”

“And Euron hasn’t?” Yara argued back, before I could rebut the man's statement. “Tell me, what has Euron done for any of you? Has he forgotten you yet? He sits on the throne, enjoying the life of the King of the Seven Kingdoms while we squable and hunt for food in the dead of Winter? And believe me, when I tell you that winter is far from over.”

Silence stretched on again, and I could only assume news from King’s Landing had been scarce ever since he claimed the Iron Throne.

The man with peppered black and white hair who stood behind the Seastone seat straightened his back as he clapped his hands together. “We have heard nothing,” he confessed aloud. “The entire Iron Fleet docks at Blackwater Bay.” The men around him chided him for giving out this valuable information, but he continued, “I had two sons that went with him, and I have not received a word from them since. Euron rules his ship with an iron fist, dependent upon fear, but I am starting to wonder if my sons have received a fate even worse than that. If you, Theon, are willing to attend the Kingsmoote than we will choose whether we want you to be our King.”

“And if Euron is chosen,” the other grey old man piped up. “Then we have every right to execute you for treason.”

“What treason?” I blurted out.

“The treason of going against the King.”

* * *

Yara slammed the foggy window, and then strode across her bedroom in an angry fury. “I knew you would betray me.”

“Because I elected to be King.”

“I thought you would support me.”

“You’re a woman, Yara!” I argued back. “They will not have you.” I followed her to the other side, where she was currently splashing her dirty face with cold water. “Besides, they would have killed us-”

“- you don’t know that,” she interrupted.

“I’ve been across the North, the Riverlands, King’s Landing…” I shook my head regrettably. “I’ve seen things you have never set eyes on. I know there are men out there that are willing to bend their knee to Queen’s, but not ours.”

She shoved me away and walked over to a shelf where a dry towel was stored. “I would have been a greater ruler than you.”

“Then be my advisor.”

“I am _no_ advisor.”

“You know the sea better than I.” I went before her and rested my hand over the side of her shoulder to get her attention. “And this is just one step, of many. Let me gain control over the Iron Islands, and then continue our alliance with the North and the South. Only then we can defeat Euron Greyjoy.”

“And then what?”

“We hold this steadfast, and the continuation of our line will fall on your shoulders.”

She threw the towel down on the floor with disbelief. “My shoulders?” she jabbed, and then punched her fist into the palm of her hand.

“If you have forgotten I have no cock.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“You _have_ to marry!” I berated. “Otherwise, the Greyjoy line is at an end.”

“In case you have forgotten, I’m not interested in cocks.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Why do I have to marry?”

“Because, the minute the men out there realize you are in need of a husband they will come scampering after you. Choose the best, get pregnant and then you can decide what to do with the man.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“So, be it,” I breathed out, and then turned away from her to head towards the door.

“When did you become so strong?”

I looked over my shoulder, noticing the way she was looking at me with her fist still resting in her hand.

“I’ve been running too long,” I told her. “But now its time to face my fate.”

She let her hands fall to her side slowly, and in a croaking voice she shouted out, “I won’t marry, but I will get the job done.”

“He won’t be a Greyjoy, but a bastard.”

“The blood will still run in his veins.”

“I lived with the Stark for _nine_ years! I have seen the difference between a true born son and a bastard. You will marry,” I ordered. “And may our line stretch out for another thousand years.”

* * *

The men of the islands stood in a large circle outside the large stony fortress of the Pyke. The great flags streamed in the gust of wind, while the grey clouds slowly dispersed to show the sun once more. The last time I stood here, I saw the rightful throne stolen away from me. The chants of “Euron” sometimes echoed in my ear, even after that fateful day.

_May they say another name now._

The same elderly man from earlier leaned heavily on another man, hobbling over the rocky ground that inevitably led to the water. “Theon!” he called out, and let his eyes darken at the appearance of me. “So, you came after all?”

I breached the center of the circle, and waked across the numerous sets of eyes following me until I could approach the man. “I have.”

“Hmmm,” he murmured, and let his wrinkly hand brush his long hair away from his dim eyes.

“You never did tell us how you managed to get Yara back? Or how you came here?”

“I broke into the Red Keep of King’s Landing, snuck down into the dungeons and rescued Yara myself. Then we went northward and then traveled west until we reached the coast.”

“All of this on your own?”

“I had…” I looked over my shoulder to take a peak at Anson and Yara. “… some assistance.”

“None of them were Iron Born.”

“The Iron Born men served Euron," I reminded him. "And held my sister as a _prisoner._ ”

“So, you relied on others.”

“You can say that.”

“I _do_ say that,” he said rather loudly, and gave me a look to show he knew what was truly going on. “Who else?”

“I don’t see why that matters?”

“Who else?” he repeated and released his hold on the other man so he could stare at me.

“The Starks had offered us help,” I drawled out.

“You still feed on the wolf’s milk,” he quipped. “They are our enemies, you know.”

“Euron’s enemies, not ours.”

“It seems those long years with Eddard Stark has made you soft, just as I imagined.”

“I am still a Greyjoy,” I exclaimed. “No amount of years in the North can change that.”

“And yet, they are so willing to help you.”

“We struck an alliance,” I declared. “I need all the help I can get.”

“We don’t need help,” he jeered. “We take, and take, and that is all we live for!” The men around him cheered, and I could tell I was losing this battle already.

“Euron may have an army, but Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the woman he swore he would seduce with his Iron Fleet is now siding against him. Tell me, what happened to our people the last time we sided _against_ the Targaryens? We got swallowed up in flames.” I flickered my eyes to the rest of the crowd as I added, “I have the favour of Daenerys and the Starks. The people of Dorne have swore their allegiance as well, and we all agree that the days of Euron Greyjoy has come to an end. Ask yourselves which side of the fight you want to be on? How useless are we when we have a thousand ships, but one breath from a dragon can burn it all away?”

The old man puckered his lips at me with annoyance, clearly lost by my swaying words. “You say you have the Queen’s favour?”

“I spoke to her myself.”

“And she will side with you.”

“She will.”

“And the Starks?”

“The entire North will rally behind us.”

“And you don’t think I will send word to Euron of this _treachery?_ ”

“Even if you do, he cannot destroy all of Westeros with a single army.”

The man made a clicking sound with his mouth, and then pushed the man off him for good. “The cards fall in your favour.”

“The Drowned Gods have been good.”

“If we choose you, it will make us an enemy to the Crown.”

“We have never sworn an allegiance to the Crown, not willing.” I rested my hands over my hips as I added, “And what Iron Born fears the wrath of Euron?”

“The one whose seen what his ships have done,” he said with an edge to his voice. “May the Kingsmoote decide their fate,” he announced with a raised hand, and then stood in the center of the circle to take the vote. Each man casted rocks in one spot or the other, and soon a large pile of propitious rocks mounted in my favour. The ceremony was silent till the end, and only when I had three times more rocks than Euron that I was sure of my victory. “It is decided,” the old man announced. “Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy is hereby the King of the Iron Islands. For what is dead, may never die.”

“For what is dead, may never die,” the crowd sullenly replied, as a man appeared from the back of the crowd with my father’s bone-like crown in his hands. My name was chanted loudly as he set the pale white crown on the top of my head, and I found some relief knowing I had fulfilled my legacy at last.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks things are going according to Petyr's plan. Let's just hope it stays that way...


	78. The Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a snowstorm outside so I am writing more than usual. "Brace yourselves, Winter is Coming," has never been so true for Canadians. Oh well, don't be surprised if you receive an update that I posted a chapter after this one as well.
> 
> Enjoy the climb,
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish

**Daenerys**

Our small party was camped around a fire; the flames flickering under a pale white sky. It was somewhere in the late afternoon, and I lazily stretched myself out next to the blazing fire in the hope of feeling some warmth. Parcelle sat cross-legged right in front of my feet, his mind perhaps drifting away as he stared into the flickering red light. Lady Brienne was somewhere behind me, pacing back and forth with an uneasy mind, her sword hanging tightly in the palm of her hand as if she was ready for an attacker.

I could hear low murmurings from the Onion Knight as he conversed with Jorah. They were both standing on guard, knowing this patch of forest could hold dangers beyond the white walkers. They both stood on the other side of the fire, standing close to one another as they whispered and pointed off at certain sections of the forest. “I’ll take the higher ground,” Ser Jorah disputed, and then charged up the snow crusted hill to get to a higher surface. Ser Davos crossed his arms, and then paced back and forth in the open area of the camp, feeling useless now that his partner was gone.

I was supposed to sleep, but I found it hard to close my eyes after such a long night. _I might dream of him,_ I feared, still trying to blot out the image of Jon with blue lifeless eyes. My blankets were thrown away and I raised myself to my feet to take another look at my dragons. “Your Grace,” Brienne implored in a broken voice, once she realized I was walking about camp. “You should be sleeping.”

“So, should you.”

“I can’t.” Lady Brienne sheathed her sword and positioned herself by my side, as I strode towards my dragons.

“They need to be fed,” I observed, trying to distract us both from the real troubles at hand. “But if they were truly hungry, they would go out to hunt.”

“But they’re staying,” she cooly observed.

“It means we are still in danger,” I told her. My glove was torn off my right hand, and I let it glide along the hot scales of Drogon first, noticing how his leathery skin trembled from my touch. “You’re back now, are you?” I observed, sensing the warging ability from Jon’s cousin had been broken. His fierce, protective nature had returned, and I was not surprised when his neck tilted over to the left to brush the top of his nostrils against my hand. _He feels like home,_ I thought, and couldn’t help but smile at this ancient creature.

“I didn’t think he’d make it.”

“Neither did I.”

“It must have been the storm that saved him.” Lady Brienne stood in front of my bent elbow, watching me stroke Drogon as she added, “Otherwise that javelin would have went right through him.”

“Jon is gone,” I breathed out of the blue. “I can’t believe he became one of them. All this time he warned us about the _others_ and the Night King, and now he’s a white walker.”

“He’s more than a foot solider,” she remarked with a strange tremor in her voice. “Did you see the power he had?”

“I saw.” My hand patted Drogon’s black scales one last time, before I walked in front of him to greet Rhaegal as well. “He wanted my dragons.”

“The same as the Night King.”

“And that’s what worries me,” I relayed with concern. “Its almost as if they are equals… like one replaced the other.”

“We didn’t know what the Night King wanted,” she mused aloud. “Or why he wanted to gather an army to go past the wall, but the thing is, we don’t know what Jon wants either.”

“He wanted to destroy them.” I laid my hand on the side of Rhaegal’s face, watching the lids of his eyes close slightly by my touch. _They are exhausted._

“And he did when he killed the Night King,” Brienne proposed. “But you saw what happened, didn’t you? He laid his hand over Jon’s face and then suddenly he became one of them.”

“Strange magic!” Parcelle yelled out to us, even though he was a few feet away. He remained still as he sat before the fire, but he knew without even looking that we were listening. “One final curse upon mankind.”

Lady Brienne stepped forward as she blurted out, “What are you saying?”

“The Night King knew what he was doing.”

“Obviously.”

“The Long Night is far from over.”

“And you saw that in your flames?” she asked in an accusatory voice.

“I’ve seen nothing in the flames as of yet,” he confided in a low sort of voice. “But I know there is an army still out there with a Targaryen as their leader.”

“One represents fire, and the other ice,” I said aloud, and felt the weight of the words as I said it.

“The prophecy,” Parcelle murmured. “A story of ice and fire.”

Lady Brienne stood just behind this mysterious little man, taking note of how calm he looked under our intense gaze. This man looked like he could see the future of the entire world and still wasn’t afraid of what it had in store.

“Jon should have lived,” he voiced aloud. “I don’t know what happened… he was the Azzor Asshai, I’m sure of it.”

“You once told me,” Lady Brienne spoke out. “That only the Prince that was promised could save us from the long night. If Jon has become one of them, then-”

“- who will be able to stop him?” Parcelle quickly cut in. “I don’t know.” He crawled on all fours, and then slowly staggered to his feet with his back to his fire. “I must warn Petyr.”

“I’m already heading to Winterfell,” I assured him in a loud, confident voice. “I need an army strong enough to stop the white walkers.”

“The Unsullied,” Brienne piped up. “And the Northerns could help.”

“And possibly the Dothraki if I can find them,” I said in desperation. “But the only way to win them back is to _conquer_ them.”

Parcelle stroked the bottom of his chin with his gloved fingers. “That shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

“Let us rest for another hour,” I told them. “Then we will gather our belongings and leave this place.”

“As my Queen commands,” he said in jest, and then returned to his seat so he could stare into the fire once more.

* * *

Ser Davos was humming a sad sounding song to himself as I approached him from behind. His arms were reaching upwards, his hands clinging to a tree branch as he stared off into the snowy forest with a despondent air about him. Once I was close enough, Davos became aware of my footsteps and swiveled around with a sudden swiftness with a small dagger pointing towards me. “Your Grace,” he sheepishly said. “I did not…”

I lowered the sharp blade away from my face with the tip of my fingers. “I have come to tell you we’re our leaving.”

He tucked his pointy dagger away, and then rubbed down his snowy black coat as he uttered, “So soon?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I hardly had time to think,” he mused aloud. “Can’t get the dreaded sight out of my mind. Poor Jon…”

“I know.”

“You’re his wife,” he remarked. “It must be worse for you.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt, it was a tangle of mixed emotions that came over me all at once. From a military standpoint his decision to attack the Night King and his army with only my dragons was beyond stupidity, it was as Ser Jorah coined it “suicide” and not even my love for him could blind me from that fact. _Jon used his heart instead of his head,_ I thought, and felt that was his greatest downfall. _And then he got off Drogon to kill the King himself…_

“I’m sorry, your Grace,” Davos apologized with his hand laying over the side of my arm. “I miss him too.”

The man took my silence as a sign of grief, but I was actually considering every decision Jon has ever made that led him to his fate. _Viserion,_ I mused, _and then his need to attack the white walkers alone- without the aid of my dragons and the Unsullied._

“Are you sure you don’t need to rest further?” the Onion Knight asked, with a tenderness to his voice.

“Where’s Jorah?”

“Up the hill somewhere,” he commented. “I will go help you find him.”

The man still had his hand still on my arm, directing me forward into the denseness of the trees with a protective air about him. The sky had turned form blanche white to an uneasy grey, with the wind howling over the tree branches signaled another storm. _They could be getting closer_ , I realized, and felt it was wise to leave our encampment as soon as we can. Ser Davos continued to lead me upwards, offering his hand whenever he could when the patches of ground became to rough for my soft furry boots.

I should have felt grief as I traveled these woods, knowing Jon was gone from me forever. Another feeling clasped itself to my heart, but it was too early for me to distinguish it clearly. I felt anger towards Jon for never taking my advice fully and being too headstrong to even consider the other options the council and I brought to the table. I felt a terrible sense of guilt knowing I had fallen for another, and that the last few conversations I had with Jon was filled with nothing but hate. I behaved wrongly, but perhaps our marriage was broken even before he left our first encampment with his Wildling army.

Ser Davos was being unusually gentle with me, engaging in small talk to pass the time away in a quiet voice just in case there was something nearby. I answered him in small syllables and an occasional sentence, until I grew tired of that and merely nodded my head as I walked beside him. I only felt a sense of relief when he uttered, “There he is!” with a finger pointed at the back of Ser Jorah as he stood at the very top of the hill.

“Davos?” my knight called out, since he had trouble picking him up in the dark forest.

“Right here,” he answered back, and charged out the last of the dense trees until he stood on a leveled plain of the hill. “Odd, how flat this area is.”

“It once belonged to someone,” he informed us. “I found an old fence and some remnants of a stone house not to far away. Nothing salvageable though.”

“Jorah, I never knew you were so far away from us,” I chided, since I found myself out of breath from the long journey.

“I wanted a good view of the camp and everything around it.” He pulled the sturdy grey hood over his head more as he added, “How is Brienne?”

Ser Davos answered before I could: “She’s taking it rather hard.”

“I don’t think she will ever recover from it.” He blinked sadly at the ground, making his blue eyes dimmer under the pale sunlight. “And what about you, Khaleesi?”

“I’m…”

“She hardly speaks,” Davos filled in for me. “Grief hits us in different ways.”

Jorah looked deep into my eyes, and I knew he could sense very little grief there. “Davos, do you mind if I speak to her alone for a moment?”

“Oh, sure. I will meet you back at the campsite. I’ll make sure everything is in order for departure.” The man was completely oblivious to the details of our future discussion, probably thinking the only person I was willing to consult with was Jorah.

I felt his long arms wrap around me and pull me deep into his chest with a low sigh. “Dany, I’m sorry,” he breathed, sensing my emotions right from the start. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t.”

“We couldn’t have saved him,” he reminded me in his deep, soothing voice. “Not without putting your dragons at risk.”

“Jorah, I don’t blame myself.” I stroked my gloved hand on the side of his coat, brushing off the light snowflakes that continued to fall over us. I closed my eyes for a moment, embracing the peace I felt in his arms. My faithful knight was quiet, and I took comfort in the only way he could consul me. “I’m fine, really.”

“I know you loved him.”

“I did.” Jorah moved back slightly, as if the confession still hurt him. “But what is done, is done.”

“And what do you mean by that?” he chided in a low voice.

“It was his decision to make, and there is nothing I can do to change that.”

“Do you ever consider how much death we have seen?” he mused aloud. “Such destruction.”

“I am a conqueror, Jorah. It is all I know.”

“Yes, Khaleesi.”

“But I am sorry he is gone.” I inclined my head upward and kissed the side of his pale cheek. Jorah’s eyes softened by the impact, a tiny curl to his lips went upward for a single moment. “But I happy I still have you by my side. Thank you… for being the only sane voice last night.”

“It was a lot.”

“Have you ever cared for someone so much, you can’t bear to see any harm come to them?” I asked, as I could still envision Jorah fighting the Night King with a flaming sword in hand.  

“I have,” he relayed in a tiny voice. “I’m staring right at her.”

I kissed his lips as a welcomed reply, finding the heat from his mouth intoxicating to my senses. Jorah went ahead of himself and placed his lips on the side of my cheek, brushing the soft hairs of his beard against my frozen skin as he went in for more. I let him kiss me for a few more seconds, before I lightly pushed him out of arm’s reach. “I’m not ready yet,” I confessed with a crack to my voice.

“I’m sorry, Dany,” he pleaded, with one of his hands resting over the side of my wrist.

“Don’t apologize. It’s just… too soon.” I stepped into his space and reached for his hand closest to me. “Let’s go back. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Where are we going?” my loyal knight asked with concern.

“Winterfell.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Petyr :( 
> 
> The next chapter will probably be from his perspective lol


	79. Under the Rug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird title, but it will make sense.
> 
> I've been writing for hours, so I think I'm going to call it a day after this one. Not sure when I will update it next, but whenever it is posted things will most definitely take an interesting turn.
> 
> Enjoy the climb,
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish

**Petyr**

My hands felt almost frozen as I strode down the dirty walkway that led out of the stables. It had been a long, hard day and I was weary of spending my evening outdoors as well. I had other plans to spend the evening with Sansa, but news had reached me an hour ago that the Unsullied army were approaching our gates sooner than I expected. _Business first,_ I deliberated, and lengthened my strides to show the guards on either side of me that this was urgent business.

“So,” Varys prompted up, as he slipped out of the shadow of the city’s gates. “You have heard the news at last.”

“I was away,” I explained in a low raspy voice, knowing that sly conspiring look all to well. “What have you heard?”

“The leader of the Unsullied brought a group of twenty men with him. They say he wishes to meet the Lady of Winterfell in person.”

“Sansa is still getting ready,” I shot back. “So, he has the misfortune of meeting me.”

“Great misfortunate.”

“It could be worse.” The corner of my lip twitched, wanting to smirk at the prospective of my next words. “It could be a Stark.”

“I recall you being married to a Stark.”

I licked the top of my lips, despite it being cold. “The cleverest one, then yes.”

“You were always one to gloat.”

“People gloat in different ways, Varys.” I looked around me to see more of my guards swarming in, an added protection in case the Unsullied proved themselves a threat. “And for once, I’m not gloating about my marriage to Sansa.”

“And you were always one to align yourself to powerful people.” He puckered his lips slightly as he turned his head away. “But sometimes power isn’t always a good thing.”

“Power is the _only_ thing.” The gates of Winterfell cracked open, and a gust of northerly wind instantly blew against our faces. “How else would I be able to greet arguably the most powerful army found across the Narrow Sea?”

“They are not your army,” he reminded me. “Daenerys presented them to you as a gift, but she can easily take it away.”

“And is that what your whispers tell you?”

“My intuition,” he murmured, and then positioned his body towards the open door where the trotting of horses could be heard in the distance. Snow blew at us like thick white clouds, almost blinding our vision as the noises came closer to the castle gates. “Let’s hope I’m wrong,” Varys piped up, as he drew himself behind me and took his usual secluded spot in the shadows of the gate.

I rubbed my gloved hands deftly, trying to bring some warm sensation back to my fingertips. It was a fool’s errand to visit the Northern Citadel’s construction, but Darin was eager to show me his developments. _The boy cares more for the workers than the construction,_ I noted, but thought it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. _I’ll make him in charge of the workforce and find another to supervise the operations._

 _I have a North to run,_ I thought, _aware of the problems we faced from beyond the wall and south of our border were quickly encroaching upon our land._

“One problem at a time,” I muttered under my breath, and blew out an impatient breath as I heard the last of the horses trotting its way towards our open gates.

“Halt!” one of my guards called out. “Who goes there?”

“Greyworm, Commander of the Unsullied Army,” a voice answered back from among the dark shadows spread across the open gate. “Servant of Daenerys Stormborn.”

“You may pass,” my guard answered back, and my force instantly stepped aside for Greyworm’s army to come forth. They were clothed in black and grey, and lay hidden in the shadows of the winter storm as they trotted forward. Only the heavy breathing of the horses could be heard, with the gusts of white clouds shooting from their nostrils and open mouth.

“Welcome,” I bellowed out in a loud voice, with my arms spread out widely. “As the King of the North I welcome you to Winterfell.”

A loud thumping was heard in front of me, followed by a sharp grunt of a horse. My guards unsheathed their swords, the sharp ringing igniting the air as they sensed the same danger that made the hair’s stand at the back of my neck. I could not see what was in front of me, but I could distinguish a silhouette of a form with his hands unarmed with any weapon. “We mean you no harm,” a deep voice assured us, and I felt it was the Commander of the Unsullied that was speaking.

“I express the same sentiments.”

“Then… you will excuse me if I speak in my mother’s tongue.” I saw his body go rigid and turn towards his men with a sharp step in the cold hard ground. He barked out an order in a foreign language, which made them drop off their horses in unison and stand next to their steads with keen alertness. In a straight line they stood in attention, and not even my own men could have such level of intimidation- nor professionalism. Greyworm sharply turned in my direction again, and in that moment the snow blew so hard he was nearly indistinguishable in the blizzard that came upon us.

“Very impressive,” I yelled out, wanting to fill the awkward silence that quickly commenced.

“You said you are a King,” he stated in a chilling voice.

“I am.”

“There is only one King,” he rebutted in a wooden voice. “Jon Snow.”

“Jon Targaryen,” I corrected. “You have been too long from civilization, my friend, times have changed.” I waved my hand forward with a pleased air. “Let us talk somewhere warmer, perhaps, and then you should know everything.”

I gave him a smile that did not match the cunningness of my eyes, before I led the way with my men flanking around me. I could hear the forces of the Unsullied marching with a disturbing amount of timeliness, and even I could not deny they were an undeniable threat.

 _This may prove worthy after all,_ I mused, and felt the danger of The Golden Company decreasing by the second. _What can Euron’s army do, when I have such a formidable force?_

* * *

Greyworm has positioned himself by my side, the moment we entered the halls of Winterfell. My men were on my left, while his were marching behind him on his left. I could feel the tension of that moment, how even the dimness of the hall set a mysterious aura around our surroundings. I was uncommonly silent, feeling this man beside me was the type to say as little words as possible. While I walked proudly from side to side with my confident gait, this man almost marched across the black slab-like floor with his boots pounding hard upon the surface. His height was imposing as well, but when I studied him carefully from the corner of my eye, I could tell he was an inch or more taller than me. _It must be his armour,_ I mused, and looked down to see my warm black cloak that flanked my entire frame all the way down to my knees. “Its just over here,” I assured him, and pointed to an open doorway that was straight ahead and to our right. I decided to take him into the council room, instead of the throne room. One encouraged cooperation, while the other demanded obedience and open submission; I wasn’t sure if I had to get to that level of power yet.

Funny enough, it was Tyrion Lannister that came out of the council room with a curious look about him. “I was wondering what all that noise is about,” he said with his usual wit. “Sounded like a stampede of horses coming my way.”

“Tyrion,” I whistled out, somewhat pleased to see the man standing before me. “What were you doing in there?”

“Looking for you, but I see you brought an old friend.”

“Hello Tyrion,” the commander softly said, showing he had some sort of emotion after all.  

“I have you know I’ve been off the wine.” He raised his eyebrow as he darted his eyes in my direction. “And have served Queen Daenerys well, voicing her opinion and representing her in all matters that she would approve of.”

“Then tell me why Jon is not King,” he demanded, with a curtness to his voice.

“This is a democracy… it not entirely about conquering in Westeros. Daenerys believes she can rule Westeros with her dragons and her army, but she forgets that people have a _choice_. They chose to follow her, but…” He raised his small hand in my direction with his palm facing the ceiling above us. “They have elected Sansa as their Queen, and therefore her husband will be named ‘King of the North’ a title that he relishes amiably.”

“You flatter me,” I teased.

“It was fact, Petyr, not flattery.” He raised his finger over his mouth to silence my rebuttal. “Be happy I didn’t call you ‘Littlefinger.’”

“I believe my wife warned you what would happen if you ever called me that again.”

“Yes, please forget it ever happened,” he taunted, and smiled at me with lop-sided grin. “Greyworm,” he rapped up, and turned his head to address the commander. “Tell me good news about Daenerys, we haven’t heard from her or Jon in months.”

“Months?” the man breathed out with a depth of feeling.

“The last we heard from Queen Daenerys is when she sent us a letter,” I explained. “The letter that graciously agreed to send us her army.”

“The same that revealed Jon is a Targayren, yes, I remember this now,” the Commander spoke up, with a willingness to utter more words than I expected.

“I am sure we have a lot of stories to exchange, so why don’t we sit down,” I suggested, and showed the way with an outstretched hand before I led them inside the council room with only a long rectangular table in the center of it. “Have a seat,” I urged, as I made my way to the head table.

“Should I take the right,” Tyrion jeered, and pulled out the heavy chair with a heavy scrapping that reminded me of the days of King’s Landing. “Where is my sister, I wonder,” he rambled. “My father, and our lovely King Joffrey.”

“All dead.”

“All dead, but me… and Jamie.” He stopped the chair, and then made his way around it so he could take a seat. “Dany did warn me, you know. She promised to break the wheel. The Tyrells are gone, Martells, the Lannisters, who’s next?”

“Not the Starks,” I warned.

“No, Sansa will outlive us all. I told her that long ago.”

“I hope to live the same amount of days as her.”

“Maybe even more.”

“No, not more,” I gravely replied, and found my grip at the edge of the table tightened with that exclamation.

“You love her too much,” Tyrion remarked, with a shadow of a smile. “Speaking of love, Greyworm where is-”

“- with the rest of my men,” he cut in, before Tyrion even had a chance to finish this sentence. “Should we talk business?”

“You traveled for how long, and the first thing you want to do is speak _business._ ”

“Tyrion,” I warned. “I am overly fond of your witticism, but not now.”

“I’d say you enjoy Varys more, speaking of which… where is he?”

I did my best to not roll my eyes at him, wishing there was still some power within me to control my tongue.

“Probably lurking behind a shadow,” Tyrion continued. “So, you want to talk business? What do you have to say?”

I turned my gaze away from this small little man and directed it to the commander with his army standing closely behind his chair. “I understand you were sent to us, to defend our castle from Euron’s army.”

“It is.”

“Do you know how long you are able to stay with us?”

“Until our Queen demands otherwise.”

“I see.” I stroked the corner of my goatee, narrowing my eyes at the man who could probably hold a hoard of secrets. “What do you know of the The Golden Company?”

“They are sell-swords,” he simply put. “They lack the organization and discipline that we have.”

“So, you think you’re better?” I inquired in a raspy voice. The man beside Tyrion considered the question carefully before he slowly nodded his head.

“We are not at equal footing,” he relayed. “If we fight behind the castle walls we stand a good chance.”

“I wasn’t considering fighting them on leveled plain, if that’s what you mean. I have a map drawn out of the castle walls and will have you decide where best to place your men and _mine._ ”

“Yours?”

“You are a commander,” I pointed out. “Lord Royce will be in charge of my men, but he will follow your orders.”

“I understand.”

I leaned forward in my seat with both of my hands flat on the wooden surface. “I will do everything I can to protect my people.”

“Have you gone sentimental?” Tyrion piped up unexpectedly.

“Marriage changes you.”

“Mine was so short I hardly noticed,” he spoke in error, since we were both married to the same woman.

“Yes, back to more important matters,” I digressed, hoping to side track the awkwardness. “I think you should have a good night’s rest, Commander Greyworm, and then we shall discuss the matter in greater detail tomorrow.”

“And I will send for my men in the morning. Forgive me, but I thought it best to-”

“Access the situation before you send them all through,” I interjected. “A wise move on your part.”

“And yours was equally wise, your Grace,” he retorted. “Having guards surrounding you in case we were more danger than we pose.”

“You have an infamous reputation,” I quipped, after I rubbed my finger over the emerald gem of my wedding ring. “And I put the fate of my family and my people first.”

“No harm should come to the people of the North,” Greyworm droned in a soothing voice. “We wish to serve our Queen… and if it comes to it, the King of the North as well.”

I let my hand raise in the air in front of us as I assessed aloud, “The way I see it, we are on the same side.”

“We are.”

“Then let us shake on it.” I let my hand fill up the large space between us, holding it in animated suspense. “An alliance.”

“An… alliance,” he answered back, and struck his hand in mine. It was clear he was unaccustomed to hand shaking, so I did my best with his stilted arm before I brought it back to my chest.

“You will be given the best rooms,” I assured him, and then raised myself from my feet to show him the way.

“Where is Lady Stark?” he asked as he raised himself from his seat as well.

“Lady Baelish,” I corrected without a second passing between us. “Is in her quarters getting dressed. Would you like to speak to her as well?”

“On account of the letter I would.”

“You could join us for dinner if you’d like.”

“Um, sure,” he quietly replied with a look of uncertainty.

“I imagine you haven’t had a proper meal in months.” The Unsullied army took a sharp step to the right and faced the open door. I was beginning to wonder if they were always at that state of command, never having a moment’s rest even when there was no real danger posed to them. “I don’t have enough seats for your men, but we could move to the dining hall if you’d like. It can seat just about a hundred there.”

“They will rest and eat in their rooms.” He sped up slightly, so he could walk just beside Tyrion and I. “We do not live the lifestyle as you do.”

“The life of luxury,” I rapped out with my hands stretched out to the sky. “You will find you will grow more accustomed to it, then you realize.”

“We are soldiers first.”

“Soldiers, yes, but I know that all men _have_ certain desires.”

“Our only desire is to win this war, and then take King’s Landing when the time is right.”

“And watch your Queen take the Iron Throne, but what then?” I swivelled around to face the interesting man, and see the dark army marching behind him with an obtrusive air about them. “Do you go home? Find a nice spot to settle near King’s Landing? Possibly be the Queen’s guard?” The man was clearly annoyed by my questions, probably never meeting a person like me before. “Or maybe I am getting ahead of myself…”

 _Every man wants something,_ I mused, _but its hard to determine what the Unsullied really wanted._ I took a good look at the Commander, wondering if someone could truly posses such blind loyalty. Have I spent so much time in the slimes of King’s Landing, that I can’t even trust someone with such predisposed loyalty- a duty to serve their Queen without expecting anything in return. _Daenerys must truly be something,_ I deliberated, before I forced myself to turn around and lead the way to Greyworm’s chambers.  

* * *

Sansa was just tying up the sash to her rosy pink dress when I came up from behind her. She must have heard the chamber room door open, for she turned around suddenly to face me. “Petyr,” she breathed out frantically, and forgo the tying of her sash to run to me. “Petyr, tell me…”

“All is well, my love,” I urged, with my hands spreading across her warm cheeks. “I have missed you.”

“I am just happy you are safe. You know I don’t like when you leave the castle.”

“You forget our lives are in danger even inside the wall.” I tilted my head closer to her right ear as I whispered, “You forget the faceless girl… even she managed to slip inside of these walls.”

“But she’s gone now, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know, sweetling.” I edged my face backwards so I could see her frosty blue eyes again. “And that is why we must _always_ stay on guard.” I smoothed my hand over her cheek, taking in the worried lines that were slowly appearing around her face. “But I will do all I can to protect you, do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Which reminds me, where did you put my dagger?”

“Which one?”

“We both know which one.”

“I left in my chest.”

“Where the servants can find it.”

“She knows not to go in there.”

“And you trust Eva implicitly?”

“No,” she confessed, and then shut her eyes as she considered her error. “Petyr, we have to hide it.”

“I know exactly the place.”

“This is wrong!”

“Would you rather them drag me into the throne room and sentence me to death again?” My lips pursed deeply, until my mouth was almost a straight line across my face. “Sansa, we need to hide this.”

“Why did she give it to you?” she demanded. “What did the faceless woman say?”

“She asked me why I did it,” I reminded her. “She only wanted to know the reason I gave her the name.”

“How did you get the coin?”

“You forget my family is originally from Bravos. I know how to acquire the coin, though it came at a hefty price.”

“Petyr,” she groaned with a fierceness to her voice. “I don’t want to know anything else.”

“The past is the past,” I reiterated. “Let us drop it entirely.” I brought my face closer to hers, desperate to keep her close as I added, “The dagger, Sansa, bring it to me.”

She slipped out of my arms and ran towards the chest, digging both of her hands into the chest deeply until she unearthed the weapon. “What about the pin?”

“I want it.”

The items were placed in either of my hands, and I closed them in the palm of my hand instantly. “I will treasure this pin as a reminder.”

“Isn’t the dagger enough?”

“The dagger is evidence,” I retorted. “Evidence of what I have done to _your_ sister.”

She gritted her teeth and turned her head away from me, slouching her shoulders forward with one of her hands covering the side of her face. “I don’t want to see it anymore.”

“Because it shows the awful truth.”

“That I married the man that killed my sister, then yes.”

“I will hide it,” I promised her, as I went over to my desk and drew out my set of keys that would unlock a small compartment. “A place no one will ever look.”

“Where?”

“I don’t think its wise if I tell you that.”

“Where?” she begged, with a loud shrill to her voice.

“Arya’s crypt.”

She turned around with her hands clenching the front of her dress that lingered over those lovely thighs of hers. “Its not even made yet.”

“Yet.”

“They will ask questions.”

“Not if we create them for Bran as well.”

“Bran isn’t dead.”

I scratched the top of my head, as I strode towards her. “Neither is Jon, or you. Still, it’s the tradition of your family, is it not?”

“So, that’s your plan? Hide it in her crypt.”

“For now… it will go in Cat’s.”

“My mother’s.”

“Your mothers,” I repeated without ever truly looking her in the eyes. “I think its safe to say you and I are the only ones who ever visit her crypt.”

She fidgeted with her fingers nervously, looking almost afraid by my statement. I found her wandering over to me, and soon her arms wrapped around the back of my neck. I was caught off guard by her movements but found it strangely comforting that she should embrace me at a time like this. “Sansa, are you alright?” I asked in a scratchy voice. “We can talk about this tomorrow, if you’d like?”

“I’m just… only you can understand what its like not to have my mother in the world,” she softly replied. “I never really had time to grieve.”

“And how could you?” I cupped her cheeks tiredly, hating to see the glossiness in her eyes. “So much horror you faced at such a young age?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she quickly rebutted, wanting to be closed off.

“You don’t have too, San.” I let my hands fall over her, until it rested on the sides of her shoulder. “ _We_ don’t have too.” She closed her eyes sadly, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to shed down her face. She was fragile, breakable at a moment when all she could see was the dead faces of her family.

“I don’t want to be there when you hide the dagger.”

“I understand.”

“I _never_ want to see it again.” She opened her eyes with a sudden fierceness to it. “Do you understand?”

I nodded my head slightly, never letting my eyes stray away from hers.

“Promise me,” she uttered out. “You will never give a name to faceless person again.”

“I swear it, by the old gods and the new.”

“Swear it.”

“I will never give a name to the gods again.”

She pushed me away from her with a harsh shove, and then walked across the room to hide herself in the washroom. _She blames herself,_ I knew, _and me. I only wish we could get past this…_

I went over to my desk and made sure the compartment was locked, before I tucked my keys away into the small pocket of my doublet. Every time I thought we could get past the problem, it would come nudging itself against us again. _Time will tell._

“You will hide it tonight,” Sansa abrasively yelled out from the inner corner of the washroom. “And we won’t speak of it again.”

“You can’t just brush it underneath the carpet, love.”

She poked her head out of the corner of the washroom door. “Why not?”

“Why not?” I repeated with an even louder voice.

“We both know how to sing songs! How is this any different?” She made her way over with a look that showed my doom, if I said another word to anger her further. “How many times have I pretended things didn’t bother me, wore a smile when the whole time my heart was breaking? Being called ‘little dove,’ while Joffrey boasted of killing my father and having Robb’s head thrust through a stake. Pretend that the things that Ramsay did, never bothered me at all. Its all an act, you see…”

I quickly went over to her, eager to comfort her in the warmth of my arms. “Sansa, I’m sorry.”

“Your words mean nothing.”

“I am.” I shook my head at her, as I let my fingers through her loose hair. “Will brush it under the rug, okay?”

“What about you?” she asked to my surprise. “What of your songs?”

“You already know my sad tale,” I simpered, with the lids of my eyes half closed.

“Its not nearly as worse as mine,” she said in a frigid tone of voice, with her nails clawing at the hem of my sleeve.

“No.”

“Petyr, I’m tired of pretending.” She pulled the hem of my sleeve up, and my wrist soon followed till it hovered in the air in between us. “I’m not a mockingbird… I won’t say things that will appease people. I want to be honest and true, like my father.”

“You’re father-”

“- my father had his faults!” I stammered out. “But he was a man that was respected by all, and who is still gravely missed by my people.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we get rid of that dagger,” she shot back. “ _But_ … this won’t be something we will never speak of again.”

I stared at the palm of my hand, feeling the air coming out of the thin crack of my lips.

“Will you promise me that as well?”

“Of course, my love.”

“And no more _secrets!_ ”

“I have none.”

“For now,” she droned, with a look that showed she knew me all to well. “I mean it.”

“I am your faithful servant.”

“None of that nonsense,” she chided. “Just prove to me that I can trust you!”

“You can,” I promised her, and leaned forward to kiss her straight on the lips. She was frigid under my touch, but I knew it was because her mind was spinning with a million things. “Sansa, please remember I would do nothing to _harm_ you.”

“I know that.”

“Then can we please move on,” I begged with an undeniable raspiness to my voice. “ _Please._ ”

“I never knew you were the one to beg,” Sansa related with a soft look in her frosty blue eyes.

“For you I would beg,” I told her. “Don’t you know by now, I would do anything for you?” She answered me by slamming her lips on mine, wrapping her arms around the back of my neck like an anchor to a storm. I dove into her body, steering her further until we crashed against a wall. Her lips crushed mine earnestly, while I rushed my fingers through her hair with all the desire firing through my entire body. “I love you,” I reminded her, when she rubbed her finger down my jawline and face.

Her body was flat against the wall, and I couldn’t help but to hike up her dress with one of my free hands. “Petyr,” she wheezed, feeling my hand brush across her cold skin with a sense of urgency. I laid my face against the side of her cheek, as I used both of my hands to undo my trousers. My small clothes were thrust down as well, and I let my clothes all fall around my ankles before I drew my attention to her dress again. “You’re like poison in my veins,” she said into the depth of my ears.

“I’d like to think I’m more than that.”

Her fingers pulled at my hair, the second she felt my hands sliding up her beautiful dress again. “Only because I can’t fight it back.”

“Fight what?” I asked, as I noticed how hard she was pulling at the hairs at the back of my head.

“You,” she cooed. “And the _picture._ ”

“The picture will be prettier than ever,” I answered in a husky voice, and then thrust myself inside of her to instantly hear her scream. I grunted aloud as well, as the impact was felt inside of me, and without restraint I thrust myself inside her again with all my strength to hear her yell again.

“Petyr,” she begged, and it was only then that I remembered our child.

“Sansa, I…”

“Gentle,” she pleaded, but somehow wore a small on her face. “For my sake, at least.”

I eased myself into her at a slower pace, thrusting in and out to relieve that keen sensation again and again. Her dress came falling over, and my seed was spilling over the edges of her dress. _Guess she will have to wear a new one,_ I thought, for a single second before I prodded myself inside of her womb with the sound of her screaming my name in the background. Her lips crushed against mine, forcing me to kiss her back as quick as I could as a delirious madness came over us both. Sansa hooked her leg upwards, giving me more access as I pressed her against the wall. “The other one,” I droned, and swiftly grabbed her left leg by the back of her thigh and hiked her up so I could grind her back into the wall of our room. She was making sounds I hadn’t heard in a good long while, and with my name on her lips I couldn’t have asked for more.

“Harder, Petyr, just for me,” she begged, with her fingers pulling at my hair with all the desire in the world. “Oh, please, just one more.”

I thrust into her one final time, knowing she would peak at that exact moment. Her face was flushed when I was done, my poor sweetling, looking all frazzled and done for as I continued to brace her body up with my strong arms. “The past is the past.”

She nodded her head tiredly, eyes drooping over with pleasant exhaustion after what I had done. “Thank you,” she breathless said, and then dropped her head forward to kiss me on the lips. We stayed like this for a minute, each taking turns to showcase our ever-growing affection and love for one another. “I do love you, Petyr.”

“I know.”

She smiled sweetly at me and patted on my shoulders so I could lower her to the ground. “My dress is ruined.”

“You have enough time to change.”

“We spent half of it fighting-”

“- and the rest fucking,” I gleefully remarked. “I liked the second half.”

“This seems to be a theme.”

“You always turn me on when you’re angry.” I paused as I gently removed myself from her. “Or when you’re in command.”

She patted at her hair, realizing how much I tangled it when I worked my hands through it. “Petyr, what have you done?”

“Let me brush it down,” I asked of her, as I bent low to pull up my small clothes and trousers. “You know I want to do that.”

“Only my mother was allowed too, and now Eva.”

“And me,” I chided, and took a hold of her arm to lead her to the bathroom. “I’ll help you clean up too,” I pointed out, showing how damp the bottom of her dress was at the front. “I can buy you a new one.”

“I have lots.”

“I can still buy you one.”

She turned around and signaled me to untie the buttons to the back of her dress. “You just want to spoil me.”

“I just want to fuck you, and not feel entirely bad that I ruined your dress.”

She bit down on her lip, and I could see the colour rising in her cheeks. “Why do I feel every word of that is true?”

I kissed the back of her exposed back, after a part of it was parted from her dress. “Because it is, San.” I kissed her on the back even lower this time, with my arms caressing the sides of her waist to keep her still for a moment longer. “You make me happy. I hope you know that.”

“I… I do.”

The third kiss was firmer this time, cementing itself onto her skin. “As long as you know that,” I droned in a low voice, and then pressed the side of my cheek against her skin in idle worship of this beautiful woman I could confidentially call my wife.

 


	80. A House Full of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Samwell**

Lord Royce stomped into my solar with a brooding look that could perhaps strike a man dead, it was clear he was in the worst of moods. “There are many lines, but this time Lord Baelish has crossed it,” he exclaimed, before he bumped into my table and shook the entire contents disturbingly. I just caught the holder to my candle when he glared at me, furrowed grey eyebrows darting low under his eyes.

“What has our Grace done this time?” I asked, after the candle was fully stable.

Lord Royce charged over to the window and slammed the window shut, making sure there was no one listening. “When he first came back, I was told to shut my mouth and forget whatever happened,” he deliberated aloud. “But I was there at the execution, I heard what happened.” A deep gust of wind escaped his clenched teeth, deep lines stretched over his brows grievously. “Responsible for Lady Arryn’s death.”

“I’ve heard,” I spoke softly. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding,” he jeered out with resentment. “More like Lady Sansa was more than willing to forget after she took a giant tumble with…” He stopped to pucker his lips, and then shook his head heatedly. “How can she execute justice, and then take it away?” he questioned aloud. “Her own father.”

I dropped my feather pen down on the table, wondering why this man chose to confide in me. “What is that you want?”

“I want to know I’m not making a mistake,” he stated in a firm tone of voice.

“I don’t know. Maybe we all are?”

The man’s lips curled upwards, creating a thin smile upon his face. “So, I am not the only one?”

“I serve Winterfell,” I explained. “Which means I serve the Lord and Lady of the Winterfell.”

“Even if one is a cowardice and the other a _murderer_.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“I heard what Lord Brandon Stark said,” he declared with a puffed-up chest. “And now, my daughter confides in me that Lord Baelish slandered my name in the Vale, thereby, removing me of my Lordship and command.”

I raised my eyebrows high above my forehead and shrugged my shoulders lightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he jeered. “I had served Lord Robin, his father and mother faithfully. And what do I get for it, an instant removal based upon lies.”

“Have you confronted Lord Baelish?”

"To the man who calls himself ‘King’? Are you out of your mind?”

“Then what good is it telling me?” I inquired, as I leaned back into my seat. The fire was burning behind me, sending a wave of heat to the back of my person. I could see the harsh firelight hitting across Lord Royce’s silver armour, and the illumination of his pale green robe he wore comfortably over his expensive apparel. The man was speaking in truth, it was told by his look and gesture. Still, such conversations could turn against me if it was overheard. I looked towards the door, noticing the tall man had instantly followed my gaze.

“Yes, we can be overheard,” he commented. “First Lord Varys and his birds… now I hear Lord Baelish has acquired the same suspicious habits.”

“He wants to know who’s loyal to him.”

“And you are?” he gibed out with disbelief.

“I am.”

“Then you are just as stupid as the rest of them.” He was heading towards the door as he added, “I have half a mind to take Myranda and head southwards.”

“You are the head commander,” I reminded him. “It is your job to protect Winterfell.”

“I swore oath to the Arryn family. I never swore an oath to serve _Littlefinger._ ” He opened the door and shut it harshly behind him, leaving me with an unsolved puzzle to this disturbing riddle.

* * *

It was late in the evening when I was sitting next to the open window; wrapped in furs, I leaned my head out to overlook the multitude of people crossing our gates. There was shouting from guards, directing traffic from the people who came from the small town just outside the caste’s walls. The sept had been stripped of all its religious artifacts and was meant to house a few families for the time being. Every available room in the castle was given to them, except for the ones belonging specifically to the Stark family. Petyr was immovable on that fact, stating that no harm should come to his wife and unborn child.

The people’s movement were slow; carts and waggons dragging behind them with all their worldly possessions. It was the eve of war, and many sacrifices had to be made. _And they are not the only one,_ I thought, as I patted my empty belly and wish I could have had more food offered at luncheon. I was just about to count the available ravens when I heard a knock on the door, and loudly encouraged the unknown visitor to come in. “Your Grace,” I exclaimed, and offered a low bow even though it wasn’t necessary.

“Maester Tarly,” she spoke softly, after she quietly entered my room. She was dressed in all black with long grey fur wrapped around her collar. She looked almost mournful, but I supposed it was the stress of war that made her look that way.

“How may I serve you?”

“I’ve come for more oils for my husband,” she explained, while her eyes flickered all around my room in idle curiosity. “You keep your room clean, Tarly.”

“Best to be organized,” I told her with a small smile. “Just give me a moment and I will find it.” I walked past her and rummaged through an old medical cabinet, inspecting things quietly before I picked up a small container that looked familiar.

“You should have it locked,” she observed.

“Why?”

“You are so trusting,” she asked in a low voice.

“There is hardly anything interesting here,” I piped up, after I retrieved an empty bottle.

“You don’t have poisons in there?”

“Well…”

“Things that could potentially harm us.”

“Your Grace?” I asked, after I turned around fully to face her. “I mean you no harm.”

“I never meant you, Tarly,” she shot out in a steely voice. She looked almost paranoid, or maybe there was only concern written across her visage. It had just been two days really, since the Unsullied Army had fully settled onto Winterfell; but I can see already it was taking a toll.

“I will keep it locked, if you wish.”

“How do we know someone didn’t add anything into the oils you give us?” she rapped out. “Or took something to slip into our food or drink.”

“Is someone threatening you, your Grace.”

“No,” she spat out. “But it’s a possibility.”

“Yes,” I breathed. “I suppose so.” She watched me set the empty bottle on the table and bring the oils to ease away the scarring to the light. “It looks untampered, your Grace.”

“I was there when King Joffrey died,” she barely whispered. “I see what things happen to those in power.”

“I will lock the cabinet door.”

“And your room,” she uttered loudly. “I shouldn’t have been able to open the door.”

“I trust the people here.” I walked towards her with a hand outstretched. “These people here, our _good._ ”

“No one is good,” she snarled. “Anyone can be a _monster_.”

“Your Grace,” I pleaded.

She laid a hand over her stomach worriedly, seeing her emotions may have been affected by something else. “Have you ever wondered why people want to inflict pain?” she asked aloud, with eyes directed to the floor.

“I hadn’t…”

“Thought of it,” she filled into the silence. She took a small step forward with her arms wrapped around her front, a false air as she pretended, she was cold. “I sometimes wonder about that question,” she mused aloud. “Ramsay…” She bit down on her lower lip with eyes steely blue. “It doesn’t matter. Make sure the everything is locked and stored away, do you understand?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“The oils,” she demanded, and pointed at the empty bottle for me to continue my work. She pulled up her hood softly to cover half of her head and then walked over to the open window to look outside. She stayed this way for a few minutes, unbothered by the cold northerly winds blowing against her.

“Its all done,” I relayed aloud, with the bottle outstretched before me. “Our Grace is still preparing for war?”

“With the Unsullied,” she said from the corner of her mouth. “He’ll be beaten and bruised by the end of the day.”

“He should not push himself so far.”

She retrieved the bottle from my hand swiftly. “I told him that, but he doesn’t listen.”

“He wants to be strong for you both.”

“There are different ways of being strong,” she noted, and then walked around me to get to the door.

“Your Grace,” I called out, and entreated her to stay for a bit longer. “Since you’re here, I might as well give you this…” I briskly walked towards my desk and pulled out a scroll from one of my tiny compartments. “A letter directed to you and your husband,” I prompted up, and related the tiny scroll into her hands.

“It has the Tully sigil.”

“Aye,” I voiced aloud, as I leaned against the table in front of her. “We are lucky to have it, considering…”

“How close the Golden Company is,” she noted. “Its from my Uncle?”

“I believe so.”

“Are there any other letters.”

“Well, your husband has asked for them to fall only into his hands.”

“And not his wife’s,” she said into the awkward silence.

I scratched the side of my beard nervously. “Those weren’t… his exact words, your Grace.”

“I understand,” she quipped, and tried her best not to smile at me. “There our no secrets between my husband and I.”

“Then I can relay it to you, since it concerns me as well. Lord Reywne wants to control the Reach.” She nodded her head in understanding and positioned herself to stand right beside me. “I made an oath to Protect the Wall, and I failed. I have made a sacred oath to take up my calling and be a Maester, and you have graciously allowed me to stay here and serve House Stark and… House Baelish.”

“You have.”

“I think Lord Redwyne should control the Reach,” I surmised. “I am no use to the people when I am all the way up here. My mother is old, and it should not fall on her shoulders to control such numbers.”

“Then I should speak to my husband about it,” she sweetly replied. “If that is your wish, then we should grant it.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

“I can see why my brother like you,” she cooed, as she fidgeted with the clear glass bottle in the palm of her hands. “You are kind and very loyal.”

“I’ve seen what happens to people if they don’t stay loyal,” I remarked, as my mind turned over to Castle Black. A part of me wanted to confide on the conversation I had this morning with Lord Royce this morning, but I feared it would be percieved as an act of betrayal. “I only hope the rest of the people are.”

“We shall see.” Her face darkened substantially with worry, while her eyes fell downcast to the floor again. “I only wish I saw Petyr more, but he’s been so busy.”

“Give him time. There’s a lot going on,” I reminded her lightly as I moved my body closer to hers. “Besides, you will see him tonight when you give him the oils, right?”

“Yes,” she softly replied, though it sounded so faint I could hardly hear it. “And… I’m not sure if it’s the pregnancy but I’m having trouble sleeping.”

I turned my head to her with concern, finding the shade to her skin uncommonly pale.

“I told him his words would disappear, his house, his name… but I was _wrong._ ” Sansa let her eyes flick upwards and then turn to the open window where the soft cawing of a raven could be heard. “I would ask for milk of the poppy, but I’m afraid it will put my child at risk.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.”

She leaned off my table and straightened her back with deliberation. _She must act strong for all our sakes._ “I will be sure to pass on the message to my husband,” she spoke in a chilling voice, before she headed towards the door.

“There are certain natural remedies to make you sleep,” I shouted out, before she had time to open the door. “I will take a look at the glass garden house, maybe I can-”

“-find something,” she cut in. “Yes, that would be greatly appreciated.”

I nodded my head curtly at her and gave her leave to take a step out the door. I watched her dark figure go and wondered if I should have warned her. There is danger creeping at her door, and I didn’t say anything. I punched my fist into my hand as I watched the door swing closed on its own accord. _What would Jon think of me,_ I wondered, and could only hope he would return to Winterfell soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been foreshadowing this for a long time, so hopefully these are becoming a little clearer. The war against the Golden Company won't go exactly as they planned...


	81. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Tyrion**

It had been over an hour and we were going nowhere. I rapped my knuckles on the table, interrupting King Baelish’s well worded speech to get everyone’s attention. His hands froze in the air, eyes narrowing slightly before he turned his gaze to me. “Have you something important to say?” he asked in a thick Fingerish brogue.

I raised my eyebrows for a second, and then half rolled my eyes as the rest of the men peered at me. “I noticed how no one asked what I think?”

“My apologies,” he drawled. “How foolish I am to _forget_ you.”

“I have you know, Baelish, that I’ve overseen many wars before.” I dragged my hand down across the table to settle it on my lap. “Arguably more than you.”

“Then what do you suggest?” he quipped, in a low tone of voice.

“We keep studying this map of Winterfell and its surroundings, but what you haven’t considered is the threat we may get from the North.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was focusing on our _immediate_ danger.”

“The dead can be immediate.”

Lord Royce huffed loudly to get our attention, puffing his chest forward as he stared at the two of us. “The two of you batter with at each other like husband and wife,” he scoffed. “Out of the two of you, I have the most experience when it comes to war.”

“Then perhaps you should use your tongue,” King Baelish quipped, clearly the most annoyed out of the three of us. “So far, you’ve just been sitting there without anything to say.”

“I’ve been listening,” he corrected. “I’m surprised my ears haven’t bleed yet.” He straightened his back against the chair as he added, “And where is Lady Baelish?”

“She is currently indisposed,” Littlefinger answered her, with a slightly suspicious look about him. “Quite unwell. Only a bit of rest is needed.”

“I think she should be present as we make plans for war.”

“The art of war does not concern her,” he argued back. “Especially in her condition.”

The room fell silent, all four men sat in the tense silence with the withered old map settled on the table between us. Greyworm cleared his throat slightly, but when he turned to him, he said nothing.

“As I was saying,” King Baelish continued. “With the natural formation of the land, we have all the advantages. We are on the highest ground with solid walls! Able to see far down the hills, past Wintertown and all the way down to the King’s Roads. We have the advantage of _knowing_ when they are coming-”

“-but that doesn’t mean we can so easily defend ourselves against them,” I reminded him.

“Where is that upstanding _courage_ of the Lannisters?” he mocked. “If you are determined that we should lose the war than we will.”

Greyworm leaned forward and used his finger to make an imaginary circle around the castle wall. “You have the advantage, as you say, of knowing the land. If something goes wrong, what is your relationship like with your neighbours?”

“All the house’s support our cause,” King Baelish droned. “They live and serve Queen Baelish.”

Lord Royce clicked his tongue against his teeth. “And what about you?” he asked in an accusatory tone of voice. “What is their _opinion_ of you?”

“Why they…” King Baelish tilted his head to the side like a nervous bird. “… support me, as well as my wife.”

“Are you sure?” the man gibed, with a haughty look that revealed just how much he hated Littlefinger.

“I can never be sure of anything.” Littlefinger smirked at the man sitting across of him. “I can only hope for the best.”

“Then,” I interrupted in a loud voice. “Let us hope we win.”

Greyworm tapped his finger against the map to get our attention. “Are there important places they can hold?” he asked softly. “Strategic hills, crossroads, towns, any thing of that sort?”

“The forests that surround Winterfell obviously work against us. If they so wished they could make temporary lodgings from the wood, but the frigid temperatures and lack of resources would make it very unlikely. There are, of course, other towns nearby…” King Baelish leaned forward to point at the map in front of him. “But all of them are _loyal_ to House Baelish.” He flicked his eyes upwards, to let a very hard and long glare fall over Lord Royce’s visage. “Wolfswood is the most penetrable forest and may pose the most problems for us. Deepwood Motte is nearest, and I have already confirmed with House Glover of their actions if they should encounter soldiers that do not belong to us.”

“And what of Wintertown?”

Littlefinger stroked his moustache and let it fall all the way down to the end of his goatee. “I am uncertain of what action to partake,” he admitted aloud. “If I had my way, I would destroy it fully, but Sansa is quite adamant that the buildings stay in tact.”

“They could house in them, wait out their time as they build barricades and ladders.”

“I am aware of that fact.”

“Then?”

“What do you suggest?” Littlefinger asked, turning the question on its head. All four of our eyes lifted from the map and fell on Commander Greyworm, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“I’d say we dismantle it,” he confessed. “But we don’t have much time.”

“A nice fire would do.”

“A nice fire,” I repeated aloud. “And you will be hearing it from the tenants, who just so happy to live inside of these walls.”

Petyr opened his mouth wide as he uttered, “A necessary sacrifice.”

At that moment the doors swung open, and one of the servants stormed in. “Your Grace,” he panicked, and then ran towards King Baelish with a scroll in hand. He took it quickly and drew it open to read its contents. His eyes blinked quizzically, and then he rolled it up neatly to place it in a pocket somewhere in his sleeve. His lips puckered hard, and then he let it fall back into its natural position. “I have news,” he announced to the men in the room. He looked up at the servant and waved him away with a quick flick of his hand. “Maester Tarly has sent word that Jon _Targaryen’s_ ravens have returned to us.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” I piped up, until I realized the error of my words.

“I should have clarified,” he droned in a deeply sonorous voice. “Returned… _without_ a letter.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, each of us taking turns to glance from one to another. _Why did Littlefinger seem pleased by this news,_ I wondered, _and am I the only one worried for Jon?_

“We should find him!” I reasoned. “See the reason for this.” Littlefinger batted his eyelids at me slowly, and then let it fall to the rings glittering off his creamy white fingers.

It was Lord Royce who spoke up soberly: “The reason is obvious, he is _dead._ ”

“We don’t know that.”

“Why else would the ravens return? How many of them were there?”

King Baelish tilted his chin upwards as he droned, “The letter never specified.”

“Still, I imagine there is a lot.”

“Very likely.” He rose himself from his seat and pushed down his fine silk doublet to make sure it fitted snug against his form. “I must speak to my wife.”

“But…” Littlefinger turned to me with a sharpness to his eyes. “But,” I continued. “Does that mean this meeting is over?”

He adjusted the hem of his sleeve to make sure it was secure. “For now,” he said with a shadow of a smirk. “Say no word of this, not until I tell you otherwise.” He strode out the room confidently, leaving the three war counselors alone in the room. Not even a few seconds passed by, before a servant entered the room to retrieve the map and rolled it up tightly before he made his way out again.

“Well,” I huffed. “This has been eventful.”

“Preparation is key to win the war,” Greyworm contemplated aloud. “I believe he is in the right.”

“Its better than having a sword thrust through my chest,” I quipped. “You really think we can win?” I alternated my gaze between the two brooding looking men. “I mean, really win?”

Greyworm nodded his head with gravity and uttered a quiet reply that he believed we would, but Lord Royce- that man looked so conflicted it put me on edge.

“Royce?” I piped up and noticed how long it took for him to turn his gaze to me. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” he sharply replied, and then suddenly rose from his seat. “If Jon is dead, then that means Littlefinger really is King.”

“It would see that way.”

“Damn!” he cursed, as he threw his leather gloves to the table. “Damn him! And everyone of us,” he yelled out, before he charged out the room.


	82. Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Petyr**

I had never seen the sun set quite like this before, at least not in a long while. The pale grey sky was dyed with a dark peachy red, staining the horizon that settled over the top of Winterfell’s forest. A dark maroon coloured stream darted across it, adding a darker hue to the already changing sky. I steadily moved away from the window and wandered over to the center table where an unlit candle was stationed. A minute had passed, and I had set the candle aglow; the holder held in my right hand as I made my way to Sansa’s side of the bed. She was fast asleep, dear thing, covered in a thick layer of blankets to keep out the cold. The whole morning she had her head perched over a wooden bowl, hurling up all of the contents she had consumed last night. She shook terribly, arms trembling like a frail leaf in a storm from the nausea feeling that continued to overwhelm her. All morning long Eva and I stayed with her, surprised to see such a dreadful episode of this so called “Morning sickness.”

To make matters worse, she barely slept at all last night, complaining of strange dreams and nightmares that were plaguing her. Ramsay had been haunting her dreams, I knew, but it seemed to take a horrific turn over the past few days.

So, to see Sansa fast asleep chest first upon the bed was a great relief. Let her sleep, I told myself, and knew the arrival of Jon’s ravens could wait another hour or more.

While Sansa was asleep, I reviewed Edmure Tully’s letter for the third time today, and then safely stored it away in the small compartment of my desk where it could only be opened by my keys. I noticed the blank spot in the far-left corner where the dagger was once kept, but now it was safe- or at least I hoped so, in the dark and cold crypts of Catelyn Stark. If it was in my power, I would have her bones delivered to its rightful place, but no one knew the where abouts of her body. _At least we have Rickon_ , I mused, as I continued to stare at the empty space in my drawer compartment. _She can never have Arya’s though._

I shut the narrow compartment and thrust my key inside of it, turning it sharply till I heard a tiny _clink_.

 _Will I have to bury Jon’s bones in the crypt as well,_ I wondered, and felt a wave of happiness at that thought. He was her brother to be sure, well, half-brother. Sansa would mourn for him, feeling another loss to her family that never ceased to end for the Starks. Still, she would see the benefits of his destruction, a continuation of our plan to claim the North as our own. Queen of the North, it was all she ever wanted. I promised her she would have it, that this picture could become a reality.

_Pull it out of my mind, and into the world. And I only act if the answer is yes._

Sansa is the future of House Stark, her blood runs through our child’s veins. If she can only see that we benefit from Jon’s death, that even the slightest possibility that he did not survive up north- why we could have _everything_.

I closed my eyes, just trying to envision all that could be laid out for me. All of Westeros could be mine, it was more than a possibility now- it was a certainty.

A knock run at my door, and I opened my eyes to let it fall over my locked door. There were two guards stationed at front, so I knew they would have to be interrogated before they even had the gall to call on me. _I could only hope its good news._

Eva stood in the doorway, her hands shyly clasped together against her stomach as she took in my stare. She was empty handed, a thing that made me raise my eyebrow at her as the small woman passed me by. Her dark brunette hair was braided nicely down her back, soft pale skin sharply contrasting off her slim black dress. Dark eyes gazed upon me with interest, probably wondering why I was so silent around her for once. “My Grace is still at sleep,” she observed, after I closed the door behind her. “This is good.”

“Yes, I’m quite relieved.” I rubbed my hand behind the back of my neck, suddenly getting at an itch that came over me at that moment. Eva walked over to her Queen, and then leaned over the side of the bed to ensure Sansa was comfortably tucked away in her sheets. She was always attentive to my wife, and though I made a conscious effort to trust no one, it was rather hard with her.

“I shall tell the cooks to delay your meal.”

“Bring mine here,” I quickly instructed. “Send word to Shayne that I want chicken broth, or anything else light enough for my wife to enjoy.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Has anyone asked for me, since I’ve been gone?”

“No, your Grace,” she quietly replied. She leaned off the bed and pressed her hands against the front of her stomach again.

“Why are you so _loyal_ to her?” I directly asked after I sensed an opportunity for us to talk alone, something that rarely ever happened.

“Because she is my Queen.”

“I was hoping for something more genuine.”

“She is a _Stark,_ ” she drawled out. “And I’ve seen what happened when the Bolton’s were Warden of the North. This is her rightful place.”

“And what of me?” I asked in a raspy voice. “What do you think of me?”

She blinked with hesitation, deliberating the words she was planning to say.

“You do not approve?”

“I think you are a fine husband,” she answered me. Her dark eyes grew warm, as a tiny smile fell over her face. “I know you love her very much.”

“But you do not approve?” I questioned her. “Why not?”

“She is a Stark,” she replied lightly. “You are…”

“Not- a- Stark,” I rapped out, word by word.

“I have heard rumours…” She fidgeted her hands nervously. “… stories.”

“I can imagine what you have heard and know that most of it is true.”

She eyed me carefully, and then her mouth curled downwards with displeasure.

“What is it, then? Brothel keeper? Money peddler? A man with no name?”

She nodded her head slightly, but I could tell there was a mystery still lingering in the air between us.

“But that’s not all?” I muttered, after I took a step forward. “What else have they been saying in the servant’s hall?”

“It is not the servants that are gossiping, your Grace,” she pointedly said. “I have you know that many Lords and Ladies are capable of gossiping as well.”

“I am quite familiar with that fact, given I spent many years in King’s Landing.”

“Then you know that there are people who will may want to go against you.”

“Naturally.”

“Your Grace,” she entreated. “I have never been through a war. When there was the Battle of the Bastards I had run from Winterfell long ago, and only returned once I heard Lady Sansa Stark had reclaimed her home. But I have seen… noticed the closer we get to _this_ war, the more people are-”

“Quick to criticize,” I interjected. “Judge.”

“Turn up old sins,” she added, and I noticed how haughty she looked as she uttered it.

“My sins are on display, Eva,” I almost taunted. “I have nothing to hide.”

“So, is it true?” She licked her lips nervously and held her mouth open for an uncomfortably long time, before she uttered: “You killed her.”

 _Who?_ I narrowed my eyes at her and saw the flush shade of pink come over her cheeks. She had regretted her words already, and now she wanted to flee. _I can’t let her._ I grabbed a hold of her as she took a step back and pulled her in.

“I’m so sorry,” she begged. “Please! Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you,” I lied. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“I heard… it…”

“You heard someone saying something about me,” I intervened.

“I heard it, but I wasn’t supposed too. But he was so loud,” she cried out. “They were arguing, and- and…” Eva slipped out of my grip and quickly back peddled away from me, only to bump herself into the long table behind her.

“Eva, you must calm down.” The tone of voice was similar to the one I used on Lysa; it bought me enough time to separate herself from Sansa. _And then I pushed her through the moon door._

“I don’t believe what they were saying,” she exclaimed, much too loudly for my liking. _The guards could hear her, if she keeps this up._

“People speak ill of people all the time,” I reasoned with her. “You mustn’t take their words to heart.”

“But they- they…” Eva was a nervous wreck, and her voice was growing higher by the second. _Sansa,_ I realized, and hope she had not awoken to hear our conversation. _The last thing I need is to pull up bad memories,_ I deliberated _, it would be so much easier if we pretended it never occurred._

“Now calm down, Eva,” I almost breathed out in the softest of tones. “When you are ready, I want you to tell me what you heard.” She was leaning against the back of the chair with her hand covering half of her face. Her breathing was laboured, proving to me that she was more afraid than I realized. “I will not hurt you,” I assured her. “I just want to know what you _heard._ ”

“I was carrying out my normal duties when I passed Lord Royce’s room… on my way here.”

“And you heard something.”

“He was arguing with Myranda.” _I really need to get rid of that girl._ “She wanted him to stay loyal to you.” _It seems my cock did some good after all._ “Bur he doesn’t.” _Now, tell me something that I don’t know._ “Your smiling?”

“I have had a very interesting relationship with Lord Royce,” I droned out lightly. “It started with the day of Lysa’s _suicide._ ”

“But he didn’t say-”

“That she died on her own accord,” I finished for her. Eva raised herself up fully and looked at me as if she intended to find out the answer herself.

“The execution,” she related. “You were killed…” I unconsciously covered the right side of my eyes as I tried to blot out the memories. “… for that very reason.”

“I was killed because I was perceived as a threat,” I stated in the deepest voice possible. “A mistake that Sansa has regretted to this day.” I leaned forward and laid a heavy hand on the small servant’s shoulder. “But we have managed to get past it, so I would appreciate…” my grip grew immeasurably tighter around her shoulder blade. “If you do not bring this up in front of Sansa.”

“Yes, of course,” she nearly stammered out.

“I hope I can count on you.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Lord Royce’s wits are scattered,” I explained softly. “Even at the council this afternoon he has not been behaving himself, an issue that I must bring up to my wife as soon as she is fully conscious.”

She shook her head regrettably. “I won’t say a word,” she repeated, as if she was swearing it to me.

“I loved Lysa,” I lied. “It was very hard for me to see her go that way, but fortunately, Sansa shares that same bond of affection for her aunt. A thing that only draws us closer.” I leaned forward as I stated, “So you see, our _love_ has overcome strength and duty. It has conquered them all.”

* * *

Sansa was seated in her usual seat, her spoon idly stirring around the chicken broth with displeasure. I sat opposite her, tapping the tips of my fingers on the brown table as I went over multiple pathways that I could possibly take. My thoughts were interrupted when her voice in an unusually low tenor asked: “What is it?”

“Nothing, love.”

“I know you too well, to fall for that.”

“I don’t want you to worry-”

“- I thought we were in this together.”

“We are.”

“You say that, and then you-”

“-Sansa, I don’t want you to worry,” I insisted. “You are already unwell.”

“I’m better.”

“For now, but this news may…” I sighed deeply and stretched out my hand in an effort to touch hers. “… it may hurt you, and I don’t want that. Not now.”

“Petyr, if you truly love me than you must include me in all things.”

“I am!”

She slapped her hand down on the table and motioned it forward to grasp at mine. “You don’t have to yell,” she corrected in a tired voice. “Petyr, we are on the verge of war. The Golden Company can come at any moment, so tell me what is wrong.”

“I believe Jon is dead.”

She shook her head angrily, eyes watering with unexpected tears. “No.”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m just shocked, that’s all,” she chocked. “Am I’m the only one left now?”

“Your brother, Bran, may still be alive.”

“Why does everyone I love die?” she questioned. “Am I cursed?”

“You don’t believe in such things,” I knowingly said. “Do you remember when I first spoke to you after Winterfell’s Council, and predicted this very thing to happen. Your brother is brave, honourable, just like Ned Stark, _but_ …” I stroked my finger along the side of her hand. “He has the same temperament, hot blood runs through his veins.”

“He doesn’t think things thoroughly,” she answered for me. “He probably rushed into things-”

“- and got himself killed because of it.” I smiled at her fondly, pleased to see how clever my wife truly was. “You’re right.”

“But you’re not certain of it?”

“Purely instincts, Sansa.” I curled my thumb downwards, letting my nail drag down her precious skin. “A flock of a dozen ravens arriving at Winterfell without a single raven. I took a look at them when Maester Tarly was feeding the starving flock, I never seen any creature eat so much. Mark my words, those birds have suffered more hardships than you and I ever will.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“It isn’t,” I said with a smile. “But it sounded rather clever, didn’t it?”

Sansa shook her head at me, as she spotted my smirk. “If you’re trying to bed me, it won’t happen tonight.”

“Who said that was in my thoughts?”

“I know you,” she drawled out slowly. “But is that what was bothering you earlier?”

I pushed in my chair and let my hand glide over her arm further. The fabric of her sleeve felt so soft I couldn’t help but stroke the material deftly. “Why must your Uncle get married?”

“I thought you were happy with it!”

“No, you were.”

“Petyr!”

“I only pretended to be.” She gasped loudly with surprise, and then twisted her hand around so she could lay her fingers over the veins over my own wrist. “I was hoping you would control the Riverlands.”

“You mean, _you_ were hoping to control the Riverlands!”

“Ah, now you sound like Tyrion.”

“Petyr,” she scolded.

“If your Uncle should die, it would be you to-”

“No,” my wife chided out with disbelief. “I can’t believe you even considered it.”

“Oh, I did,” I relayed. “A very long time ago.”

Sansa bit down on her bottom lip, finding it hard to resist the temptation to kiss me. “You really do plan out everything.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Only you would consider the possibility of me retaining the Riverlands.”

“With the Freys as our allies, there would be very little resistance. I know you are not fond of them, because of what they did. But that treacherous generation has died, Sansa, and a new one emerges with their loyalty to me.”

“And you really trust them?”

I smirked at her, letting the lines stretch far across my cheek. “Of course, I do, love. It does no good to talk about it anyways; what is done is done. Edmure Tully is marrying one of the Ladies of the Eyrie, and thereby stretches an alliance that I have very little control of. My only comfort is you declined his offer to attend his ceremony.”

“Only because it is next to impossible.” She laid her other hand on the side of her face and let her elbow rest down on the table for support. “I’m getting tired, Petyr, could we talk about this another time?”

“There is nothing to discuss,” I slyly replied. “You sent the letter of congratulations, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is done.”

She arched her eyebrow at me, sensing it wasn’t entirely over.

“I only hope the lucky lady isn’t able to produce an heir.”

“And there it is.”

“There it is,” I mockingly replied in her exact tone of voice. “I do love you, Sansa.”

“I know.”

I raised myself from my chair and took a spot on the side of the table right next to her. We have been through a lot, Sansa and I; for the past few months it felt like we went through hell and back, but some how we managed to keep it together- and I loved her for that. I tilted her chin upwards, brushing my finger across her delicate cheek, sensing her lean in slightly before I encapsulated her lips. She kissed me slowly, drawing it out long enough for us to both enjoy. _How lucky I am to have her,_ I thought, as she regained control and toppled into my arms. _How lucky am I that she should love me still._

She was hardly in my arms for long, before we heard a sharp knock on the door. I knew instinctively, that it would bring ill news. Sansa’s grip grew tighter around my arm, and I took her into the center of my chest as we both walked over to the loud sounding door. Each step felt heavy, a dryness came over the inside of my throat. _I’m scared…_

“Its late,” Sansa complained into the side of my ear. “Who could it be?”

The door swung open, the two guards stood on either side of one of the military soldiers that belonged to Lord Royce. “Your Grace,” he addressed to me with a frantic breath. “You are needed in the throne room.”

_That could only mean one thing…_

I turned my gaze to Sansa and I saw the very same fear tremble in her eyes.

_Its time._

 


	83. In the Cover of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short, since I am breaking an idea I had in mind into two parts. Apologies for the short length, but hopefully the next part will be up soon.
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish

**Sansa**

“How long?” Petyr’s voice bellowed out across the throne room. His face was stern, almost brooding-like as he stared at the small crowd in front of us; it was the only people he had _claimed_ to trust.

“They will be here long before dawn,” Lord Royce answered him in an equally loud voice. “I’m almost sure of it.”

“My men did not see what Lord Royce’s soldiers have claimed to have witnessed,” Commander Greyworm carried out, but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by the former Lord.

“Aye, but that is because my men were on guard! You forget how often I make them walk along the battlements. It was Taron that saw the orange flame shoot through the sky-”

“And all of our efforts are set on _one_ man’s sighting.”

“One man that was lucky enough to see it! Who knows what happened to our men when they shot the flaming arrow out in the middle of the forest? He’s probably killed by now.”

“Gentlemen, please,” my husband urged. “As much as I love a good argument we must come to an agreement. Lord Royce, you say the spotting was not far from Kings Road.”

“Very near, your Grace.”

“And you believe it was a warning.”

“I have asked them to shoot out a flaming error if they believe our enemies are approaching.”

“So, the Golden Company will have likely spotted it as well.”

“Both sides will be on high alert, your Grace.”

Petyr’s gloved hand rubbed together curiously. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean we _know_ what they plan to do next. You know your orders, have every man posted to their station, and ensure there is an even rotation all through the night.”

Darin was scribbling down our words on a table not far from us, the only man in the assembly that had not spoken a word thus far. He looked so much like Petyr years before; his head was bent over the long scroll with his black feather pen scratching across the page. It was no wonder my husband took a liking to him.

“Where will you be?” rung in my ears, and I turned to see Lord Royce was addressing myself.

“My wife will be safely locked away in her quarters,” Petyr replied in a steely voice. I felt there was something slightly off, a sense of distrust that was displayed by my husband in a sly manner. “Your concern for my wife pleases me greatly.”

Lord Royce made a face that was nearly indiscernible, but the look in Petyr’s eye told me he could see right through it.

“I should go,” Commander Greyworm interrupted. “There is a great deal still to prepare for.”

“You are quite right,” Petyr surmised. “Go, the both of you.” He watched them both leave with slightly puckered lips, and when Darin was about to rise out of his seat as well, Petyr stopped him with a raised hand. “Stay,” he mouthed, and practically narrowed his eyes as he watched the two military commanders go.

“Petyr, what is it?” I asked of him, once the door was firmly shut.

“Wait outside,” he yelled out to the guards. Petyr then adjusted himself in his seat, tilting his body side ways so he could look at Darin and I more easily. “Always keep your foes confused,” he whispered in a deathly voice. Eyes batting slowly as he watched Darin approach the long table in front of our seats, and once the young man was leaning himself upon it, did Petyr begin. “Sansa, you will stay in Darin’s room for the rest of the night.”

“Darin’s?” I exclaimed.

“Guards will continue to guard our room, and I shall send a servant girl that looks somewhat like you to stay inside. I acquired her some weeks ago, and I already have the red die at the ready.” He turned his head to Darin. “Darin, you will stay with me tonight. Everywhere I go, you will follow. Is that understood?”

“Yes, your Grace,” he spoke in a softer tone of voice.

“Sansa,” he hushed from the corner of his lip. “If Lord Royce should ever approach you, you kill him on spot.”

“You want me to kill Lord Royce?”

“I want to make sure he will never be able to move again.”

“Petyr?”

“I still have a lot of work to do,” he said with his eyes slightly closed. “There is so much still left to be done.”

“What is it?”

“I’m playing a little game, Sansa. A gamble, one in which I intend not to lose.” He laid his hand over mine suddenly. “Have Eva stay with you in the room. Darin’s _mother_ will keep you company as well.”

 _To ensure loyalty,_ I realized, and darted my eyes to Petyr and then to the young man that looked so much like him.

“If something wrong should happen I already have a plan.” His fingers tightened over the back of my hand. “No harm should come to you.”

“Petyr, you’re scaring me.”

He pulled my hand upwards to lay a kiss on the back of my hand. “Whatever happens, I love you so much,” he uttered from the back of his throat. “Our child is the future, remember that.”

“Petyr,” I chocked, after he rose up from his seat with my hand still placed in his own.

“Darin, serve me well and I will offer you the world,” he stated with his blue eyes piercing into the young boy’s face.

“I will serve you, your Grace,” he assured my husband with an open-hearted gesture. “What will you have me do?”

“The Golden Company will be upon us soon. Lord Royce claims it will be before dawn. Curious... that he seems so certain of the timing.”

“You think he is lying?”

“I think we should be ready for anything.” He motioned for me to rise from my seat, and then offered his arm for me to take. “I must speak to Maester Tarly. The two of you shall accompany me. We leave now.”

Petyr’s steps were brisk as he crossed the stony steps, the same one where he was cut down a few months ago. How things have changed; our entire lives hinged on that moment, but there was another one now- the day he came back to life. Maybe that was the devil’s treachery, the spinning of the dagger that fell over him and I.

It was not long before Petyr unlocked Maester Tarly’s chambers, and with a smooth motion he lighted a candle to ignite the maester’s solar. I had warned the man to get a lock, and now the very thing I feared was happening, except it was my husband that opened the medicine cabinet with his glimmering silver fingers stroking the surfaces of the rounded bottles. He lifted one up and uncorked the bottle to give it a short whiff. “Take it,” he told me, and handed the bottle in my direction. “It seems Maester Tarly is more interested in his wife’s well-being than taking watch of his belongings.”

“What is it?” I asked, after I took a step back and stood beside Darin.

“I might need this too,” Petyr mused aloud, and I recognized the second bottle in his hand that he often used to rub at his aching wounds. “It might be beneficial later on.”

Petyr shut the cabinet, and then went over to Maester Tarly’s desk to scan his eyes over its entire contents. A key was pulled out from somewhere in his cloak, and he unlocked a cabinet to pull out a heavy scroll. “Darin, you still have that scroll on you, where you scribed the entire dialogue between Greyworm, Royce and I?”

“Yes.”

“Give it here.”

Darin handed him the small scroll, and with quick movements Petyr replaced it with the newly acquired scroll he clutched tightly in his hand. “A map,” he noted, and outstretched it next to the burning candle that was resting on the corner of the table. “Of Winterfell’s Crypts.”

I leaned against his shoulder to take a closer look. “Tarly was concerned the white walker was heading southward for a reason. He believed the Night King…” he paused to try and cover up his laughter. “Was after something… something here.” He pointed down at the map of the crypts. “There is a rumour, no- a theory that the Night King’s wife is buried somewhere deep in our crypts.”

“What?” I exclaimed out with near laughter. “Petyr, where are you going with this?”

“Everyone has something they believe in, but the Night King’s sentimental heart is not my concern,” he droned out in a cunning voice. “Sansa, the crypts are caved in at certain parts. Unused for some time now, but I have found there are ways to build small tunnels. Enough to keep you in safe keeping for a short time, if trouble should come upon us- you will wait there.”

“What about you?”

“I told you… you are the _future_ of House Stark.”

“Petyr,” I pleaded. “What about you?”

Petyr rolled the map back into place with careful precision. “Use the map and you will find the place I have prepared for you. There will be food, blankets, enough things to keep you comfortable.” He handed the map to me, placing it firmly into the palm of my hand with a look of concern. “The other container I gave to you is for you to fake your own death. There is a small vile of blood in Darin’s apartment already. I had offered it to his mother long ago, since I knew this day would come. When the time comes, if you know there is no means of escape then take the bottle and you will appear dead. The blood should add to the devil’s pantomime.”

“Petyr,” I breathed.

“No one will take you away from me,” he promised, with a powerful forcefulness radiating from his eyes. He brought me forth slowly and laid his lips over mine. Pouring out the depth of his feelings with one final kiss before he departed out of my arms. “Come. I must take you to Darin’s apartments,” he relayed in a raspy voice, and with half squinted eyes he turned his gaze away from me and led me to the door.

* * *

Eva took a seat next to me, holding up a miniature bottle of milk of the poppy. “You need to sleep, your Grace?”

“I can’t sleep,” I groaned, despite me being dressed in borrowed night clothes. Petyr had me dressed in simple clothes, making me blend in with the rest of the tenants of Winterfell. My hair was wrapped up a pale brown scarf, hiding the infamous colour that would instantly get me recognized by my enemies. I rubbed my hand over my finger, finding it odd to not see my wedding ring there. Petyr had taken it with me after our final goodbye, and now all I could picture was the worried expression that trailed in the depths of his sapphire coloured eyes.

“Your Grace,” Eva entreated, after she inched herself away from me slightly. The worn dagger at the side of my waist had propped itself against her thigh, and she was taken back by my newly acquired weapon.

“A present,” Petyr had whispered to me, only minutes before. The dagger was plain, you would hardly think it belonged to the Lady of Winterfell- the Queen of the North. _You will be Queen one day, do you believe me? If he was right about that one, wouldn’t he be right about our current situation as well?_

There were no guards outside our door, leaving only three women alone in the room. _What if someone breaks in,_ I worried, _what if someone finds us?_

“I would trust Darin with my life,” Petyr whispered into the side of my ear. _Why did he trust him? Did he have something on the boy? Or could he judge his character so very well?_

The echoing of marching feet could be heard outside of our doorway every now and then, showing that the guards were on patrol throughout the castle walls. It was unclear when our enemies would appear, but Petyr was certain it was soon. I got a sense he was more worried about the drama happening inside of the walls than out of it, for he had uttered, “The clues were always there, but I didn’t see them.”

A soft propping on my right arm drew my attention, and I slowly turned my eyes to the small servant girl beside me. “It is late, your Grace.”

“I cannot sleep.” I looked straight ahead to see an elderly woman approach me, a small glass of wine was in her hand. “Wine?”

“A few sips,” Darin’s mother replied, before she held the cup in front of my face. “It might calm your nerves.”

“I’ve experienced this kind of thing before,” I confessed, as I held the cup with two shaky hands. “In King’s Landing when I was just a child.” I looked down at the cup, and then outstretched it before me. “I want to see you drink it first.”

“Your Grace?”

“I’ve learned enough living with the Lannisters,” I mused aloud. “Drink it.”

Wrinkly old hands took the cup from me, and she openly gulped down a mouthful before she lowered it to her chest. “It was an act of _kindness,_ your Grace,” she voiced aloud with annoyance.

“That’s what Joffrey thought,” I sharply replied, before I took the wine glass from her hand. “Before foam spilled out of his mouth and his skin turned a deathly purple.” I glared at the old woman to watch its affects, and when she continued to breath with the same laboured breaths I thought it safe to take a sip of the wine.

“My son is supposed to protect your husband.”

“Your son is immensely loyal to Petyr.”

“He has made him the man he is today,” she quietly remarked. “And besides, Darin adores him! My son never had a father, but with King Baelish he finds one in him.”

“And my husband has found a ward- a ward that reminds him of his former self.”

“So, you see we are in this together,” she smartly replied, and I could see where her son had gotten his intelligence from.

“Together,” I repeated, and then took a larger gulp of the Dornish wine. _It is just like Petyr to sneak a bottle into the room for me,_ I thought, and nearly smiled over my cup.

“Not too much, I’ll need your wits about you if we do need a quick escape.” She took the milk of the poppy from Eva’s hand, and then laid it on the small table next to my borrowed bed. “We’ll have none of that.”

Eva huffed loudly, and then dropped to the floor to spread out her blankets further. She was too sleep on the floor, while Darin’s mother was to join me on the bed. It was wide enough, of course, but I rather my husband sharing it with me instead.

“I will not sleep,” I told them both, fearing the nightmares that would come over me as soon as I shut my eyes. _What if something should happen and I never awaken again,_ I feared, and then began to worry if I could trust the two women in the room.

_Petyr believed he could, so why not I?_

There was yelling throughout the castle, and I could tell the battle was nearly upon us. I bit my teeth down on the corner of the bedsheet, trying to muffle the anxious sounds that wanted to escape my lips. I was scared. Fearful of Petyr never returning to me, afraid that something should go terribly wrong. _He promised he had a plan, that no harm should come to me, but what if he is wrong?_

He’s made mistakes before; thrown the dice and made a gamble but there were occasions when he lost. _What if he loses this time too?_

I shut my eyes, wishing some sort of peaceful sleep could come to me. My hand rubbed the small swell of my belly achingly, hoping my doubts and well-founded fears wouldn’t harm my child. _But Petyr told me of his vision,_ I remembered, _the one he saw when he touched the Weirwood tree. And then there was my dream!_

This very afternoon I had the most vivid one: light droplets of rain pelting the ground, the river that winded around the Weirwood tree was thawing, ice snapping loudly in front of my feet as I pressed the tip of my boot upon it. The ground beneath my feet was soft and squished loudly when I took a small step back. I was alone in this sacred forest, but then I wasn’t, for I had felt a familiar presence somewhere around me. It felt like home. There was a light squealing sound, and then the soft trotting of feet upon snow that reminded me of Lady. It was another creature however, that crossed under the shadows of the forest and appeared in the bright sunlight; a direwolf with a thick coat of black trotted its way towards me, eyes piercing blue as it looked in my direction. I wasn’t afraid of it, feeling like it somehow belonged to me. With a bowed head, the great beast sat before me, his tail motionless as he rested it on the ground. I knew his name, but I could not utter it, for the time had not come yet for it to be fully revealed. The creature knew me however and placed the front of his warm pink nose against my belly. My breath was caught, and I was taken back as the creature tilted his head to rest his head across the whole of my stomach with his eyes closed sleepily.

 _It was my child,_ I realized, as I clung to the bed sheets underneath me a little tighter. _It was our son._

I could almost hear Petyr’s voice whispering into my ears, “The _future_ of House Stark.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In three days will be the one year anniversary of "The Devil's Treachery"
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me the whole time. My heart is so warm at the thought of it. Feel free to let me know what you think of the story so far and I will try and update it soon (Fingers crossed).
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish


	84. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first want to acknowledge that a lot of this inspiration came from Aidan Gillen's narrative of "The Art of War." If any of you are willing to pay a small fee for the audio recording I highly recommend it.
> 
> Secondly, I wish to inform you that this story is nearly over. Thank you to all who have taken time to read this story, and I hope it lessens the pain we have all experienced from Petyr's untimely and most unwelcome death in the game of thrones series. 
> 
> On a final note, this chapter is longer than my normal narratives. The reason for this is, I am trying to fit in a lot of plot points into a single chapter. This may be the case for the upcoming chapters as well, so I apologize for the lengthiness. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the "Dawn" chapter and let me know what you think in the comment section below. It will be interesting to hear your opinions on Petyr's character development.
> 
> Enjoy the climb,
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish

**Petyr**

I never expected day break to look quite like this. The sun bursted through clouds of dark purple and grey, while a serene-like halo of golden lighting shined upon the battlements from where I stood. _Dawn,_ I thought, as I watched a dense cloud of air escape the thin, wiry crack between my lips.

Greyworm was beside me, this strong military commander stood there virtuously, striking fear and admiration from the flanks of men around us. He was silent, speaking only when it was of the great importance. For some peculiar reason, he spoke now: “The sun rises. Our men should stay on guard, this is a prime time to attack.”

“Why?”

“Because when the men see the greatness of Winterfell, they will want to seize it for themselves.”

Winterfell is in fact a formidable castle, spanning several acres and defended by two massive walls of grey granite. The walls were insurmountable, unless our enemies had immensely tall ladders, and even then, they would be slaughtered down by an array of arrows to thwart their efforts. I was confident enough to think these walls would hold, but the cunningness of our enemy was still unknown. I knew very little about them, but at least I had the upper hand with the integration of the Unsullied, a gamble that may position myself further in the game- the Game of Thrones.

Greyworm rested his hand on the outer wall, looking down at the eighty-foot drop. _It would be a most painful death,_ I thought, as I imagined someone falling from this height. A frozen layer of ice laid across the ground on the outskirts of our wall, ensuring that anyone who wished to come anywhere near the area would slip and ultimately fall. Nature was on our side, the cold frigid temperatures confirmed it; danger and the lack of security would be a challenge for the Golden Company, for they would have to engage in war with temperatures cold enough to numb the fingers and feet, making it an uncomfortable obstacle as they attempted to transfer across the ground. The black encampment was seen just in front of Wintertown, the humble village had been laid waste the moment I heard they were approaching. Flames licked the wood all through the night, casting a deathly smoke that would have made their travels nearly impassible. It appeared they waited out the worst of the storm, and now settled themselves in front of the charcoal buildings that were still fuming puffs of grey smoke from time to time. Sansa will have my head, I knew, but after seeming them shivering in front of their self-made fires as they set up their camps made her scolding a little less worrisome for me. I had half a mind to attack them now, but I knew we had all the advantages.

Greyworm maintaining command, barked out a few orders in his native language to keep his men alert. He removed himself from the parapet and motioned for me to follow him down the stony grey steps. “The moat is frozen,” he observed, once he noticed I took a place by his side. “From the outer wall to the inner one. This could pose a problem.”

“They’ll be lucky if they even make it past the outer wall.”

“It will be difficult to march tired men across a frozen moat, but its still a possibility.”

“What should we do, then?”

“Send Lord Royce’s men to guard the area.”

“He will say it’s a waste of time.”

“Then refuse my proposal,” he simply replied, after he removed his helmet.

“No, I’ll take your word for it.” The man’s eyes left mine and followed the windy staircase as if he was slipping into some form of silent contemplation. “You ever count these steps?”

“No.”

“One-hundred and forty-three.” He placed his helmet under his arm, letting it rest against his black armour. “That is how many steps it takes from the top to the bottom. It is one thing to have men fully trained for war, but another to know the landscape and fortresses that we must fight or in this case, defend in.”

“I will inform Lord Royce about the moat situation right away.”

“Have you seen him?” he inquired in an even quieter voice. “I have observed his men patrol the grounds below, but Royce has been absent for some time now.”

“No,” I admitted. I was supposed to have one of my men tail him, but he has since gone missing as well.

“A solider is only as good as his commander,” he dryly stated. “And men that does not harken to their counsel and acts upon it, must surely face defeat. Lord Royce is not respected by your men, nor are you liked by them either. They fight for your wife, your Grace, but even that might not be enough.”

“So, you are saying if we lose, it will be my fault?” I nearly sulked, for my extremely fragile state was a result of lack of sleep and long-standing anxiety for my wife and child’s well-being.

“I am saying… the circumstances are not favourable.”

“Then what would you advise, Greyworm?”

“Find Lord Royce,” he suggested, and then lifted his helmet in the air to place it upon his head again. “We have seventy more steps to go.”

* * *

Darin was waiting for me at the bottom, as was Maester Tarly and Lord Varys. “Did you see them?” Darin spoke up first.

“Very clearly, yes.”

“And?”

“There is a lot of them.”

Greyworm raised his hand into the air halfway as he calculated: “An army of eight thousand strong.”

“Eight thousand!”

“Of uncertain loyalties,” he surmised. “They after all _sellswords._ ”

The men in our little circle stood there gaping at Commander Greyworm, but it was Varys that wore a more serious expression. His eyes lingered on my own visage, telling me had even graver news to relay to me in private. “Excuse me for a moment,” I relayed quietly, and gave Varys a look for him to follow me. We walked down the length of the hallway, standing off to the shadows since there were still soldiers passing by when he placed a hand on my forearm and leaned in close to my ear.

“There are men inside these walls that seek to conspire against you.”

“Who?”

“Soldiers.”

“To what end?”

“Plot to murder you in the throng of battle, making it less likely for them to be perceived as suspects.”

“So, I’ll have to worry about enemies on both sides then.”

“I’m afraid so, old friend.”

“Names,” I demanded.

“My little birds cannot give names, but he can tell you the master of them all.”

“Royce,” I guessed, and was greeted with a short nod from the Spider. “I’ll have to kill him after all.”

“Those are his thoughts as well.”

“Where is he?”

“Last I heard he was near the yard, close to the East Gate that leads to Kingsroad. Royce is not a deceptive man, but his supporters might be.”

“He has half the army under his command,” I jeered. “All he needs is to do is order one man to slaughter me down.”

“If you lose this battle there will never be peace in Westeros. I will help you for the good of the _Realm._ ”

“The Realm,” I echoed. “You still hold on to that age-old dream?”

“With any luck Jon and Daenerys will return to Winterfell, and it will not bode well for either of them if they find the castle in shambles. So, yes, _Baelish._ I will help you.” He looked over my shoulder to see that Greyworm had departed long ago, and that there were only two men left standing at the staircase. “Bring young Darin with you, he seems to have unwavering loyalty to you.” He stepped away with a smile as he added, “Though I can’t understand why.”

We had joined the pair of men soon enough, in which Maester Tarly informed me he would return to the Maester’s Turrent and declined a guard most profusely. Darin, the youngest of us all had the most energy and expressed a desire to occupy his time more efficiently. “Where should we go?” he excitedly asked. “Should we go to the armoury? You need a real sword, your Grace.” I looked down at the borrowed dagger that was leant by Lord Varys some time ago, and silently agreed that the boy was right. “And armour,” Darin added, once he spotted the shadow of a smile creep across my face. “So, you may look like a true knight.”

Lord Varys snickered into his sleeve, knowing I was so very far from that far-off dream. “I will wear armour befitting of a King,” I told him, as I rubbed my hand down the rough patches of suede and leather tunic that kept me warm all through the night. “Let us go then,” I proposed, and knew we had quite a way to go before we would reach the armoury that was in the northern parts of Winterfell.

I had a small army flank around me, Northern men with their breast plates covered with the silver engraving of the Stark’s Direwolf. They were large enough to shelter me from the wind, a breeze that was strong enough at our backs to make us lose our balance from time to time. Darin stood close beside me, his dark eyes scanning the empty field that was devoid of all people. I had ordered them to stay inside until the coast was clear, so it was only our group of men that staggered about the hard crusts of snow that soiled the grounds of Winterfell. The armoury was not to far ahead, though it pained me to remember that Lord Royce was spotted here last.

“For what its worth,” Lord Varys began in a somber sort of voice. “I thought you did a good job.”

“Are you offering me praise, Varys?”

“I am merely stating the obvious,” he quipped. “You are not the man I knew back at King’s Landing. Oh, yes you have all the power you ever desired, but there is something _more._ ”

“And that is?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he quietly responded, so the guards around us could not hear our private conversation. “But I imagine it has something to do with Sansa Stark.”

_It has everything to do with her._

“If I known you would have behaved this way, I might have supported you earlier.”

“And when would that be exactly?” I teased, knowing that sly look of his all to well.

“Well, I might have not tried to stand in the way when you tried to have Sansa all to yourself. But you know… I couldn’t let you have the key to the North so easily.” I grunted sharply at him, and then shot him a look to show I was greatly displeased. The man did his best not to laugh at my insolence, and then made the excuse that he had to leave me. “I fear watching you put on such Kingly attire would fatten your head a bit more.” Such departing words made me scoff at him, so it was probably a good thing that he turned left to the Guest House, where he would probably seek out his little birds for more information.

“Do you think the women will be alright?” Darin asked with apprehension. “We haven’t check on them since late last night.”

“They’ll be fine,” I assured him, once the broad gates of the armoury appeared in our line of view. “Sansa is strong.”

“I never thought she wasn’t,” he deliberated aloud. “I’d say my mother is the same.”

“Which is why I trust you both.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” he softly replied, and I got the sense that he meant every word of it. “I only wish this war was over, there is still so much to do.” He plopped his leather boot into a mound of snow, crushing his thoughts just like the rise of earth. “I think you have great plans for the North.”

“All of them must wait until this battle is won.” One of the guard’s belonging to the armoury spotted me, and heaved open the front door to let us through. The room was dark, not a shred of light illuminated the large armoury. I had always left this space for my commanders to inspect, so when one of the guards lit up a small candle and shined it in the center of the room, I was amazed by the endless array of weaponry at our disposal. Armour stretched along the walls, swords hung on the far wall at the end of the room while tables were decorated with heavy fur and helmets. I laid my hand over a frozen sheet of metal, laying my hand over the Direwolf breast-plate that felt rigid under the tips of my fingertips. _Winter is Coming,_ I reflected, taking in the details of the Direwolf sprinting across a sheet of snow. “Winter is here,” would be the appropriate saying, I silently deliberated to myself, while my guards wandered around the armoury room in search of new weapons.

“Your Grace,” Darin quietly piped up behind me. “We haven’t much time.”

“You know how to put armour on?”

“No.” He shot me a smirk. “You know what I am, men like me would never have the opportunity for that.”

“You see, I once thought the same thing,” I deliberated aloud. “But, look at me now.” I raised the thin sheet of chain mail off the wall and adorned it over my leather doublet. The weight of it was felt immediately, a thing that brought a redness to my cheeks. _Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…_

“You,” Darin called out to one of the guards, an elderly man that gave him a look of reproach as he came towards us. “Help me find the right armour.”

The guard looked like he knew what he was doing, taking out a silver breast plate with a back attached to it; neck, arm and shoulder armoury made of incalculable stiff material that he quietly clamped down over my lean frame. I felt rigid, immovable as he snapped them together one by one. Darin stood next to the man, holding up the only cape he could find to fasten to the back of my armoury, it was a thick material that consisted of a strange hue of black and green. There was nothing elegant about the cape, nor the armoury, in fact I might as well blend in with the rest of my men, but after some careful consideration I gathered it was probably a good thing. _Let me look regal for another time,_ I surmised, after I stretched out my hand to have an enclosed silvery case of armour fit over my right hand. _If only Sansa could see me now,_ I mused, and thought she would be the first to strip me down till I was left naked before her. “Turn around,” the guard barked out, and then flapped the heavy cloak out before he fitted it over my shoulders. “Do you want a helmet too?”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” I offered in a small voice, feeling out of my element with such heavy armoury weighing over my shoulders.

“You’ll need it, if we’re attacked,” he suggested, and then walked away to retrieve one that would fit me.

“You look ready for war, your Grace,” Darin said with a certain level of encouragement. He was snapping in the small curved plates above my ankles, as he readjusted the heavy armoured boot to fit my true size. “We will win this war, for sure.”

I offered the young man a smile and slapped my arm over his shoulder once he raised himself to his feet, quite forgetting the hardened material would dig into his skin. “Darin.” I leaned my head backwards, eyeing him curiously with half squinted eyes. “How would you like to be my child’s godfather?”

“Your Grace?”

“I was going to choose Parcelle, but given the fact he worships the Lord of Light…” I smirked at him wickedly, as my thoughts turned a different direction. “I’ll make you a Lord, and then people won’t have cause of refusing you. If you have been able to serve me so well, I’ll imagine you’ll do the same for my child.”

“But, your Grace…”

“Think about it,” I urged, seeing he was still caught off guard by the idea.

“You honour me greatly.”

I felt no need to reply to him, and moved a few steps back to create some space, once I saw the same guard approaching Darin and I. He held a long sword and a rounded shield with a spike piercing out of the center of it. The sword’s handle was a frosty white, with a silver tip that resembled the same colour as my armoury. “Give it a feel,” the man remarked, and placed it in my hand harshly for me to wield. Fortunately, all that time practicing in the training yard seemed to have payed off, for it felt most natural for me to hold the decorated sword hilt in the center of my hand. I looked down my chest, finding it odd that I was practically draped from head to toe in armoury. The dangers of war had finally sunk deep inside of me, this weighted clothing was put on me for a reason. “The helmet can wait,” the guard piped up, and then looked around the room to see if I need anything else. “This should have been done last night.”

“Yes,” I drawled out slowly.

“What changed your mind?”

“Seeing the frozen field outside of the East Gate filled with our enemies,” I told him in truth, and then snatched the helmet out of his hand before I attempted to walk to the open doorway. _Attempt_ was perhaps the most apt description, for I found the full-rounded greaves plate of armour uncomfortable to walk in, especially since it had no traction on the snow once I got outside.

“Darin, if I die, please don’t tell Sansa I went this way,” I joked, and swung on the plated helmet in the hopes of covering the awful smug that was coming across my face. The inner walls were to my left, another safe hold that kept my enemies outside; the right showed the Guest House where Varys had snuck in too, not so long ago. I peered at my surroundings through the narrow slits, wondering how knights had managed to wear this armoury for so long. _Sansa loved the idea of knights, once upon a time ago,_ I remembered, and silently welcomed the distraction of paying her a visit in my new clothing.

The wind was still the same, blowing so hard it made my footsteps unsteady, as if it wasn’t unsteady before. With the wind came a gust of snow, sending a shiver down the whole of my spine as I walked across the empty courtyard with my guards at my back. Something felt wrong, I froze in my spot, and noticed the area was quiet… too quiet.

“Darin?” A crashing against a door made me raise my sword in the air, and immediately my men flanked around me.

There were deathly screams coming from not far off, and the guards took a hold of me to drag me back to the armoury station. A door blew open, and dozens of hunting dogs sprinted out of their kennel trembling with fear. Two of them ran up to us, and my guards did their best to fight it off, cuffing them at the side of their head till they sprinted past us. “Protect the King!” rang in my ears, while my vision was blocked by the throng of men. Roars sounded throughout the castle, echoing off the granite walls around us, and when I could peer through the cracks of my men, I saw a swarm of enemy soldiers spill out of the kennel doors and heading straight towards us. “Take him!” one of the guards yelled out to the other, and the elderly guard took the side of my arm to drag me underneath the wooden bridge that connected the armoury to the Great Keep.

“Keep moving,” he argued, and nearly shoved me ahead of him, so he could draw out his sword. Cries filled the air, swallowed by the fearful howls of dogs that were attacking men on either side of the fray. I did my best to sprint ahead, feeling the heavy armoury was only bring me down. _I can barely see,_ I thought, and felt somewhat grateful when Darin ran ahead of me completely unharmed. The wind blew at me bitterly as we passed the wooden bridge, the same one that Sansa had often stood upon as she watched me carry out my morning training. _Sansa,_ I fretted, surprised that I should have forgotten her safety at a time like this. _I have to warn Sansa!_

We were running towards the East Gate, and fortunately the sounds were enough to warn my men that our enemies had breached our walls. “It’s the King!” the elderly guard called out, after an arrow nicked the front of my armour and dropped to the floor. “Hold- your- fire!”

“Your Grace, hurry!” one of the men called out from the battlements of the inner wall. They began to fling their arrows behind us, wounding the fearsome black creatures that were determined to nip at our heels. The wind blew at me suddenly, blinding my vision and set my face in a frozen state where even my eyes felt like it was burning. Darin grabbed a hold of my arm and carried me forward, leading me to an unknown destination where a swarm of heavy snowflakes whipped around us in a circular motion like the eye of a storm.

“Some damn bastard let them in,” the elderly man cursed, and positioned himself to guard me until we could see a proper way out of this mess. The storm wasn’t settling anytime soon, so we outstretched our arms in a vain attempt to find anything to lead us back to our men.

“Our enemies our through!” echoed in the storm, followed by a series of orders given to each Northern solider to the next. A horn sounded off, echoing across the entire castle to signal our walls had been breeched. _There is no one in command and everything is falling into chaos, I fretted,_ as I felt the two men behind me were dragging me out of harm’s way.

“Over here,” Darin instructed, once his young eyes saw a clearing, and with a strong hand he led me forward till we crashed against a large oak door. He banged on it repeatedly, while the guard behind me yelled out, “Open the door in the name of our King!”

The door opened suddenly, and a pair of black eyes peered at us. I removed my helmet with great difficulty to reveal my face, and then suddenly wondered if it was wise to trust my own men. _After all, someone let the Golden Company pass through our walls?_

“Hurry,” the small pale man gruffly asked of us, and quickly slid in the locks after the three of us stumbled inside of the room. “I didn’t recognize you, your Grace,” he said in a thick Northern accent. Wildly untamed eyebrows sprouted over his gleaming grey eyes, and the angular construction of his face made him somewhat distrustful. There was a hoard of Northern guards behind him, all decorated with the Stark sigil belonging to my wife. _Please, let that be enough to keep me alive for a little while longer._ “There’s been a mutiny,” the short man stated, as he rubbed the side of his cheek with a wrinkly old hand. “Someone let the Golden Company in through the Hunter’s Gate. That area is only known by a select few, so it had to be done by one of our men.”

“They came in through the Kennel,” the guard behind me explained. “They must be all over the courtyard by now.”

“Is it wise to attack?” I asked aloud. “When we don’t know how many they are, or what they plan to do next?”

“If we are able to attack, we must pretend we are not able too,” the elderly guard suggested, after he removed his tarnished helmet and a small brown cap that was in place over his dusty blonde hair. “Let them be overconfident and make foolish moves.”

“They already have the upper hand. The element of surprise.”

“We have guards on the upper walls. Word will get out that they managed to sneak through and then-”

“-that will leave our enemies outside the castle walls to scale it undisturbed,” I interjected. “If what you are suggesting, the outer barricades would be left defenseless by our men.”

“I’d rather take that chance than have them roam around our castle walls, till they find something priceless enough to force our surrender.”

_Like Sansa..._

“I need to find Commander Greyjoy.” I was about to walk out the door and then realized my error, we were on our own now.

“If Lord Royce is absent, then that makes you our commander.”

 _I may be many things, but I am not a military tactician._ I looked around the room to find a whole flank of my men staring at me with anticipation. _Am I the one to command them all,_ I wondered, _are they willing to put so much trust in me?_

“You’re right,” I prompted up. “We must appear weak, pretend we have no real advantages and then strike them when they least expect it.”

There was banging on the door, showing that the soldiers of the Golden Company were intent in getting in. _I wonder if this is how they managed to defeat the Vale as well,_ I pondered, realizing none of this would have ever happened if I wasn’t betrayed.

“Your brother wanted to warn me,” I heard Lord Tyrion’s voice whisper at the back of my ear. “He wanted me to warn you, Sansa, that you will be _betrayed._ ”

 _And all this time she thought it was me,_ I mused, _but it was another._

“This room is attached to the First Keep,” I spoke aloud. “Let us move there and gather our troops together. Take anything you need from this area, and then seal the door shut. No one is to get through.”

Small man that I was, I assisted the men in pushing the tables forward to block the doorway, stacking heaps of chairs upon it till it was nearly impossible to get through. _I only hope the rest of my guards found a way to safety,_ I contemplated, feeling a sense of guilt that I left them out into the storm. “What’s your name?” I asked the elderly guard, once he handed my helmet to me.

“Henry Groff,” he brusquely replied, and then put on his own helmet to set an example. “Protect yourself now, you never know what trouble is in store upstairs.”

I stepped through the crowd with Darin at my back, looking like a poor squire with his lean, wiry frame. I pushed my way to the front and motioned my hand for the Northern men to follow, feeling this was an out of body experience as I heard their metal boots clang up the stairs to lead us to the First Keep.

The door was locked to us, and after a series of knocks and calls from the guards behind me, it eventually cracked opened. “It is your King,” Groff yelled out behind me. “Open the damn door!”

“Open it,” I commanded, and heard the wooden door creak open to reveal a brightly lit hallway with a string of guards hidden along the wall.

“How many men are in here?”

“About twenty,” answered the man that was currently holding up the door.

“Gather them together.” I mounted the set of three steps and walked down the hallway, keenly aware of the metallic clatter my boots made across the wooden floor. My cape dragged across the ground, sword in my hand as I peered down the hallway through the thin cracks of my helmet. _If Sansa could only see me now._ There was an open area, and I stood in the center where a hole from the ceiling shined a bright light over my glimmering armour. A small table was there with a bench attached to it, and I lifted my knee up to my waist and settled my foot on the bench in an easy position. “Is everyone here?” I asked aloud, seeing that the men had grew still with silent anticipation. “We need to keep moving and find a proper area to gather reinforcements and then attack. What do you men know so far, those who belong to the Keep?”

“We see nothing here,” one of the men in the front stated. “The windows are frosted over, and I am unable to hinge them open with this storm. The wind keeps blowing it shut.”

“Anything else?”

“No one has knocked on the door till now,” the same man replied. “Is it safe to assume no one else will again?”

“We barred off the Guards Hall, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yes.”

“We need to block this doorway too.” I brought my right foot back on the ground, seeing there was nothing else to say. “Despite what happen, I expect you all to be loyal to House Stark and House Baelish. Those who are responsible for this incursion shall be punished. I’ll hang them by a _noose_ myself.”

There were two options now, go northwards and cross the bridge at the North gate to get to the outer wall or head to the East Gate to see if my army was still intact. The North gate would be safer, but if the Golden Company really were in control, than they would need all the help they could get.

“Put on your warmest clothes you can find and get ready,” I shouted over the quiet murmurings of the crowd. “We’re heading to the East Gate.”

* * *

Cold air filled my lungs as I crashed my boots against the stony steps, my steel gloves dragging across the rough surface of the wall as I steadily made my way over to the East Gate. There was shouting below in the open courtyard, but I ordered my men to be as silent as the night as we crossed over them. “Let them be unaware of our presence,” I urged of them. “Give them the element of surprise.”

My sword slacked hard against my outer thigh from time to time, I was still unaccustomed to such a large weapon. My favoured dagger rested on the other side of my hip, in which I was currently curling my silver gloves around the hilt as I walked along the inner wall. The gate was just ahead of us, a narrow wooden bridge that connected the inner wall to the outer parapets where my men were supposed to be stationed. I raised up my hand, halting the men in their steps since I noticed the cloud of white snow to be clearing. The top of soldier’s heads could be seen on the farther wall, and I instinctively recognized the helmets, for they belonged to the Unsullied Army. I dropped my hand and sped up my steps, thankful that not all was lost.

I had Groff step on the bridge first, just in case the wooden bridge held some dreadful secret such as a loose plank to bring me an untimely death. Groff stepped half way through, and then leaned over the banister to stare at the icy moat, the same that Commander Greyworm was warning me about earlier. He walked the rest of the way, sensing the large army behind him was growing impatient; Groff crossed the other side and then waved for us to follow him.

“Hey!” Groff called out to the line of soldiers that faced the outer walls. They turned to him in unison with their long spears at the ready, a sharply curved knife was thrust into the end of it, making it an impressive weapon that could harm a man from a comfortable distance. “The King of the North is here!” he yelled out, with his hands over his head in open surrender. “We are under attack.”

One man dropped his weapon, while the others kept them high above their waist in a defensive position. “Let the King of the North approach.”

I lifted my hands over my head as well, creeping my way slowly towards them as I crossed over the creaky old bridge with an agitated air. _I don’t know who to trust and it’s killing me. But had I not told Sansa that everyone is your friend and enemy? Have I forgotten my own advice?_

“Show us your face.” I bent forward and undrew my helmet, letting my short locks fall over my face and then blow in the wintry winds with a grave expression. “Your Grace.”

“Have they broken through the outer wall too?”

“We’re holding it.” The remainder of the Unsullied guards lowered their weapons, and then returned to watching the ugly scene down below were men were still attempting to climb up their wall with ropes and ladders. “They won’t get through.”

“Did you know they broke in through another gate?”

“We were informed.”

Groff stepped forward and spat out, “And you did nothing!”

“We are ordered to guard these walls,” he relayed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They will not enter through the Kingsroad Gates.”

“No, and why should they?” Groff briskly answered back. “When they have another one to go through?”

“The forestry around the Hunter’s Gate gave them an advantage. We never knew they had snuck around there at night. They were waiting for those gates to be open; Greyworm is certain they had help from the inside.”

“And so am I,” I uttered, after I cleared my throat. Darin had found his way across the ladder and was now standing beside me, nearly shivering to the bone. The rest of my men were crossing the bridge one by one, not wanting to add excessive weight to the man-made bridge. “Do you have any men stationed there?”

“You mean the outer wall that connects to it?” he inquired with a quizzical look about him. “If there was it would be few, it was never our top priority to guard those gates.”

“No, and why would we have too?” I groaned aloud. “This should have never happened.” I looked over my shoulder to see the outer wall was nearly filled with Northerns, since they had crossed the wooden bridge to bring themselves closer to me. “I have many men; do you need any assistance?”

“It is under control,” he answered me. “I’d rather have your men try and block off the other gate, if its still open.”

I looked around to find there was enough Unsullied man flanked along the battlements; one man was worth three of my own men, so I thought it best to let them be. I needed to find Greyworm, if anyone knows what to do it would be him. _But I can’t look weak in front of my men,_ I reflected, they will only follow someone who knows what they are doing. I was indecisive, and that alone left me standing in front of my men with my head bent sullenly.

 _What do they want,_ I wondered, _they crossed the Hunter’s Gates but what is next for them? What do I have that is valuable?_

_Sansa._

“We can’t let them go to the rooming quarters,” I spoke aloud. “All we need is for them to take one of the rooms over and hold our people prisoner.”

“The Queen,” Darin spoke up without thinking, and I knew his thoughts had turned the same direction.

“We have to block off all entranceways. Keep them contained. They are in the open courtyard for now, but once the storm clears they will need some place to hide.” My voice grew louder when I addressed the crowd. “How many of you have bow and arrows?”

A handful raised their hand, but the rest o f my men were armed with long swords and weapons used for close combat. “Those with bow and arrows hide along the inner walls, the men will want to go through the eastern gate at some point to let in the rest of the men. Stay alert and keep watch, especially over the entranceway. Let the Unsullied carry out their normal duty, and only engage with them if necessary. The rest of you come with me.”

I stepped forward to hear their heavy footsteps quickly following me; Groff was on my right while Darin was staggering to my left, it was clear the cold was making him weaker than ever. “You should go inside,” I entreated quietly, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m staying by your side, your Grace.”

“If Royce really is behind it, then he would want to hold Sansa prisoner.”

“Why?” he breathed out softly, so the other men wouldn’t hear it.

“Why not?” I looked over my shoulder at the crowd of men and swivelled around to face them completely. “We stay along the outer wall for now.” I turned back around, heading southward to ensure there was nothing suspicious going on. We had the upper ground, the single advantage as the Golden Company flocked the open court yard area. If it came to it, I would send the men down below, but for now we were safe.

We were just approaching the Great Keep when we heard some shouting down below, and a few of my men looked down into the thick white cloud of snow hovering over the open area of the courtyard to spot nothing. “They don’t sound like our men,” Groff observed too me. “Sure wish I had a cross bow.”

“If only we could go back to the armoury,” I cleverly replied, before I continue my jaunt down the upper wall. There was no point lingering without the proper weapons at our disposal, besides this area was guarded by the Unsullied army, though we were spread out evenly to ensure they covered an even measure of the wall.

The Sept was not too far away, and it was only then that I remembered I had stored a bunch of peasants inside of it for the night- including the children from the orphanage. _Fuck._ I leaned against the wall in the hopes of hearing some sort of sound. I would have to find a bridge to take me to the inner wall, and the closest one was the South Gates that was still a twenty-minute walk away. _I’m going to kill that son of the bitch myself._

We passed the area belonging to the Great Hall and I could only imagine what horrors I would find inside of there _._ Most of my men were guarding the outer walls, it had never crossed our imagination that they would breech the walls of Winterfell so soon. My steps were hurried, loudly clanging across the stony steps in a breathless manner till I knew the Southern Gates was in my line of sight. Voices were heard up ahead, and they sounded like they belonged to the Unsullied.

“Is that you, Baelish?” Lord Tyrion asked, from the crowd up ahead. He was standing next to Greyworm, in which the man was wearing a brooding expression. “I see you are trying to get into the inner walls too.” He looked me up and down fleetingly. “I would have never recognized you in that fancy attire. Why, you almost look like my brother Jamie.”

“Greyworm!” I called out. “Tell me they haven’t breached the Hunter’s Gate entirely.”

“We were quick enough to block out the gates, but enough men managed to sneak in. We don’t know how many they are or where they are currently hiding.”

“The First Keep and Guards Hall are blocked off; they won’t be able to get in from there.”

“Tarly noticed something was wrong when he was at the Maester’s Turrent. It gave him enough time to send out more men to investigate the matter. I believed they were killed from their investigation… the guards along the outer wall were killed as well. I believe it might have been by your men.”

“Those are not my men,” I spat out with bitterness. “They are betrayers to our House _and_ the Realm.”

“My men cannot be killed so easily, not unless they are caught off guard.”

“Then I will be sure to find them, and let you execute them yourself.”

The eyes of Greyworm darkened, and then his bottom jaw tilted slightly to the right as if he was greatly aggravated. “Do you know who did this?”

“I have my suspicions.”

Tyrion feeling no need to hold anything back, rapped out, “Royce did it, didn’t he?”

“You suspect him as well?”

“He has been behaving rather odd, lately.”

“And I assume no one has seen him for hours.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes at me. “We are sitting here squabbling about who is responsible for this, when the lives of women and children are at stake. I intend to cross the bridge to get to the inner walls and find my way downstairs from there.”

“And do you intend to fight these men when you can barely see anything in front of you?”

“I’ll take my chance!”

Greyworm stepped in between us, his hands raised on either side to stop us from fighting. “My men will remain on the outer wall. The Northerns shall contain the outskirts of the inner wall, and we shall go downstairs.”

Tyrion mouth gapped open in surprise, and then he shook his head fretfully. “And do what exactly?”

“Protect those that are unable to protect themselves, just as Queen Daenerys would have done. We look into the Smithy and stables and work from there.”

“I need to find Sansa,” I interjected. “She is the Queen, if anyone’s lives are at stake it would be hers.”

The three of us agreed to this proposition, and then wished each other good luck as we went our separate ways. I had a long way to go before I reached the living quarters, and if the gods were good, I’d meet Lord Royce there. I had ten men behind me, the rest I sent off with Greyworm since his endeavour was more important to mine; mine was the matter of the heart, while his was of the safety of the entire North. Shield raised high with my helmet clamped on tightly I trudged through the slippery mound of snow to cross the open courtyard, knowing enemies could appear on either side of us. A few minutes passed before I saw lurking shadows coming off the wall, and soon men were surrounding us on all four sides. I pushed Darin behind me and held up my sword at the ready position. I wasn’t a fighting man, far from it, in fact I learned a lesson that fateful day the Stark boy severed my chest in two; this wasn’t a time to back down, however, all I could do was raise my sword in a defensive position and wait to see what my enemies would do. Sellswords are most clever people, enclosing themselves around us till we were flanked on all sides. “Wait,” I ordered my men, knowing that once we separated from our small group, we could end up fighting ourselves.

 _Just think of Sansa,_ I told myself, as I felt my heart ramming out of my chest. _Think of what she will do if you never return to her, and what will happen to the child if she is so filled with grief. Think of them…_

“Now!” I screamed out and took a step forward to slash at the man in front of me, blocking his heavy blow and then countering it with a swipe to the inside of his waist. Fortunately, the Golden Company were not as heavily protected as us, wearing tarnished armour that was crusted over with ice and dirt of the earth. They appeared to be tired too, despite their cleverness and to my surprise I was able to out manoeuvre my enemy and drew as small slit across the side of his throat, enough to draw out blood and have him move backward to hide behind his men. I fought at them one by one, ensuring I stayed in the small group of Northern soldiers so we wouldn’t lose each other in the heavy gust of this winter storm. We fought hard and wise, and because our forces were united, we were able to defeat them. I only suffered a small head wound to the side of the head, that made drops of blood seep down in the inside of my helmet and paint my cheek in red. “Keep moving,” I ordered, after the last soldier was killed, and we moved ahead with every determination to get to the living quarters. I knew the blacksmith shop was on my left and having a hunch that some of our enemies were hiding in there I decided to take a peak. It looked like Greyworm and his soldiers had gotten there first, for the specific wounds the Golden Company had encountered could only be incurred by their long spears and short swords they used for close combat. “Let’s leave,” I concluded, and pushed open the door to face the winter storm again.

The Great Hall was next, the ancient room that held the sacred chairs for the King and Queen of the North. The door was barred to us, but after some knocking and assurances that it was the King, the double doors opened inwardly and a stream of Northern guards had their swords pointed at us, as if we were their true enemies. “It is I,” I assured them, and removed my helmet to reveal my face. The guards unexpectedly bowed to me on one knee, a thing that had never done before in the whole time I had ruled the North.

“Your Grace is most welcome,” one of the guards replied, and instructed his men to move to the sides of the room so I might enter. There were two long tables on either side of the room, and on the benches were women and children closely huddled together. They looked almost frightened to death, and the broken window shards that sprayed across the floor showed our enemies attempted to break through at some point earlier on. “They broke through the walls, your Grace?”

“No, someone let them in,” I droned, as I let my eyes fall upon the women and children once more. “We were betrayed.”

“By who?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. My eyes flickered to the throne of Winterfell, and it was odd to see how empty my royal seat was. I was no longer a King, but a warrior- a soldier in this war, and I had to do everything in my power to protect my people. “What do you need to block out those windows?”

“Wood. If the courtyard is clear, I can send some of my men down to the smithy to find something.”

“I was just there; the coast should be clear. Send your men in groups, in case the Golden Company come back again. Do you need anything else before we leave?”

“No, we’ll be just fine.”

A little boy hopped off a bench, and once he approached me, I recognized his face instantly. Bending on one knee I smiled at the child and felt a warm fuzzy feeling at the bottom of my stomach as his face brought up memories from long ago. “Hello Tom.”

“You’re Sansa’s friend,” he remembered. “But you’re a King now.”

“That’s right.”

“Will Lady Sansa be okay?” he asked with bright ruddy cheeks. “And King Jon?”

“They should both be fine. Do you still want to join the war?”

“Yes, but mother still won’t let me,” he sulked, and then looked over his shoulder to glare darkly at his poor widowed mother. “I want to have armour and a sword just like you.”

“One day you will,” I assured him. “But for now, you guard your mother with your life.” My hand was heavy when I patted the boy on the top of his shoulder, and then I slowly raised myself to my seat to complete my crusade. “And I will do the same with Sansa.”

The boy wore a wide smug as I walked away from him and gathering the last of my men, I motioned them to follow me, departing the Great Hall for good. We went outside briefly, armed and ready for an unexpected attack, but fortune was on our side and we were faced with nothing. The sky had cleared, and I could see from one end of the courtyard to the other, finding the area completely barren to my surprise. My men on the upper walls shouted to us, wishing us cheerful greetings since they saw we were unharmed. Things looked like they were going well, until I heard some screams coming from the building in front of us, and realizing it had a doorway that connected to the living quarters, I threw common sense aside and sprinted towards the doors with my long sword in hand. “Open it,” I yelled, and banged my gloved fist against the heavy wooden door in a vain attempt for someone to hear it.

“There is another way around,” Darin suggested, after it looked like no one was able to open that doorway. “The servant’s hall.”

“Yes, of course.”

We ran down the frozen pathway, turning to our right and finding the door unlocked to our relief. Swords in hand, my men and I crept up the long windy steps until we reached the open archway that led to the main hallway of our living quarters. “Varys always like this pathway,” I noted, for I have heard my own birds have frequently encountered him lingering around the area. It was a prime spot to go unnoticed, an advantage to us as we heard heavy footsteps pounding the hallway in the far-off distance, probably somewhere just around the corner. We were in the guest room sections, an area for the Northern Lords during their visit from not so very long ago. I leaned against the corner of the doorway, considering whether it was safe to go any further when I heard some voices down the hall. “This was easier than I thought it would be,” a chirpy sort of voice began. “Who knew they would be so stupid to help.”

There was a series of footsteps, and I suddenly realized they were coming in our direction. Darin was unarmed, so I motioned him to creep backwards, not wanting him in harm’s way.  “It helps when they have so many enemies,” another voice rejoined. “They practically begged us to invade their castle.” I looked over my shoulder at the men behind me, suddenly feeling like they had a dagger to my back. “I say we find the Queen and fuck her pretty little cunt.” The hallway was suddenly filled with laughter, clearly amused by this idea. If I wasn’t a man that exercised some level of self-control, I probably would have charged down the hallway and confronted the men with sword and shield in hand. “They say she’s pregnant, so is it worth it? Let’s find us some servant girls and have them warm our beds instead.”

Groff breathed out loudly, attracting my attention. “I think I’ve heard enough,” he muttered, and then walked past me to confront the men himself. I looked over my shoulder to see the rest of my men, and then decided there was no real harm in following Groff. We greatly outnumbered the Golden Company soldiers with thirteen to three, and it was only a matter of time till they laid flat on their back with punctured holes in the front of their mid-sections and face. I took to stabbing the ruined corpse, and only stopped when Groff dragged me away. “Its fun to kill, but we have other matters to attend too.” I was flabbergasted by such an exclamation, never finding the act of killing as thrilling as he had phrased it till now. To be sure, I had a certain level of satisfaction when I tossed Lysa through the moon door, but that was personal. Perhaps, this sword and this armour gave me new strength, or maybe I was becoming the very person I had learned to despise since I was a young man. _What would Sansa think of me,_ I wondered, and thought it best to find her right away.

“Come,” I instructed, and led the way out of the servant’s hall to get to a more familiar section of Winterfell quarters. It was clear this area was infiltrated, and when we encountered several other men belonging to the Golden Company, there was no hesitation on my part to cut each of them down. The days in the training yard seemed to pay off, I expected a move and countered it, infuriating my enemy before I stabbed him in the most lethal parts of their body. Like a game of chess, I moved my body swiftly, and soon I was mentally counting the men I had killed from one hallway to the next. The men behind my back displayed absolute loyalty to me, and with this knowledge I gathered enough strength to sped down the hallways until I entered the section that truly mattered.

* * *

“I’m not going!” Myranda argued, she was surrounded by soldiers dressed in black and gold, but it was the towering man with a firm grip around the back of her arm that claimed my attention.

“We haven’t much time.”

“I don’t care! I never agreed to this.”

“Will you still fawn after a man that never spares you a single glance?” He argued back, still unaware of my presence that was watching him from around the corner of the hallway. “You do know he’s married? With a child, that isn’t yours.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“My sons have died in battle, and you are all I have!” Lord Royce yelled back. “If I have to drag you by the hair, I will.”

One of the men behind him suggested they knock her out, while another soldier suggested they fucked her into submission. It was enough for Lord Royce to raise his sword, and in his own self condemning honourable way threaten to strike the man down for uttering such slurs. I sensed division, and let them argue for a little bit more, much to Groff’s annoyance before I stepped forward with a smirk that could rival the devil himself. “I thought I’d find you here,” I lied, and sauntered over to the group of men with a confident gait. “I’m curious where you intended to hide, after you fled the North?”

“You set any harm on my daughter, and your wife’s honour may not be kept intact.”

If only he could see the darkness to my eyes then, but the heavy helmet prevented him from seeing the depth to my anger. “You have served the Vale well, and for a time the North. The only reason I kept you alive was because of your military skills. I have no need of them now.” I raised my shield slightly, showing him I was prepared to cross swords with him after all.

“Kill the others,” Lord Royce bellowed. “Leave _Littlefinger_ for me.”

Myranda was screaming at the top of her lungs as he shoved her into her chamber room, while four of Lord Royce’s footmen attempted to walk past me to get to the other men. I foolishly fought four men at a time, but luckily my men stepped in to claim a single man for themselves, leaving the unendurable man for me. “I can assume it was you who let the Golden Company inside of our walls.”

“I made a compromise with them,” he explained as he raised his sword in the air in front of me. “They cross the walls, kill you, and in return I get a safe passage back to the Eyrie.”

“The Eyrie is destroyed.”

“The Eyrie survived for thousands of years, do you really think one defeat will crush them forever.”

“You’re a romantic, Royce, if you returned to the Vale now you would see nothing but smoke and crumbled ruins of a fortress we used to know.”

“A money peddler has no place at the Vale _or_ Winterfell.”

“The past is the past,” I reminded him. “I hardly think my past occupations should devalue my contributions to both houses.”

“You wanted power, and that’s all you ever wanted! You never cared for Lysa or her boy; it was only a means to an end.” He came in closer with stealthy movements as he added, “And you never loved my _daughter._ ”

“You’re right. I never loved her, though she gave me some small pleasure on the coldest of nights.”

“The first part of your body I will cut off is that cock.”

“Then how will I be able to produce more children?” I mockingly asked.

“You won’t be able too,” he assured me. “Especially when we have your wife.” He almost smiled at me as he mockingly added, “Your Grace.”

I attacked him first, outstretching my hand to swing my sword in his direction; Royce blocked it without ever moving a step, a grave reminder of how he developed such an established military career in all those years he served the Vale. He slashed his sword hard against the side of my armour, ensuring I would have a bright red bruise by the end of the day- if I survived that long. I ducked suddenly, realizing he was aiming for my head, and when I raised myself back up, he knocked me on the side of my knees to get me limping for a moment. “That little boy didn’t teach you where to aim,” he taunted, and then smacked the side of his sword on the side of my wrist to nearly make me drop my sword. “Or that southern boy that belonged to a Lord, no one has ever heard of.”

“Owww,” I screamed, after he whopped me hard on the inside of my forearm, making me fear it was immovable for a moment or two.

“I wanted you dead for so long, Baelish, and now I have the pleasure of doing it.” I swung my sword upward to block his deadly blow, he finished his attack, but suddenly raised it upward to crash his sword on top of mine, and finding an open window used his large foot to kick me to the ground. My sword was still in hand as I tried to get up, but the armour was heavy, and I felt slightly dizzy from the constant blows. Someone was helping me to my feet, and even though I could not look behind me I sensed it was Darin. Royce came charging at me, and I pushed Darin back only to feel the full weight of Royce’s arm as he cuffed me at the side of my head, and practically threw me to the ground. “I should have you thrown out through the moon door long ago.”

I grunted as I rose to my feet, finding the strength to face my opponent again. I knew my men were watching me, noticing them in the corner of my eyes; their swords were pointed downwards to show this fight was entirely my own. “But you didn’t,” I gibed to the man, as I rose myself tall in front of him. “And you hate me for it.”

“And you had that child lie to me.”

“Sansa is fully capable of making up her own mind.”

“Sansa was corrupted by you,” he shot out. “You were probably sleeping together weeks before you threw Lysa out of the moon door.”

“If only that was the case.”

“You little worm,” he cursed, and then drew his sword backwards to knock me at the side again. I stopped it with nimble movements and moved inward into his body to shove my shoulder into the center of his chest. The hateful man lost his balance, but quickly regained it, and lunged forward to jab his sword inches away from my silver breastplate. “This is the end,” he foretold, and make three quick successive movements with his sword to catch me off guard, before he slammed his sword harshly against the side of my helmet to block my view entirely. I quickly stepped back, shedding my damaged helmet to reveal the pouts of blood dripping on either side of my head; it was a gruesome sight I knew, as I squinted my eyes slightly to stop the pools of sweat and blood from dripping into my glossy eyes. “You finally look like a man that is worthy of the seat,” he observed aloud. “But not worthy enough, I’m afraid.” He stepped forward with a venomous grin. “Money peddler, whore monger, adulterer, murderer-”

“That’s enough,” I said in a thin raspy voice.

“Sucking the Lannister’s cocks before you move onto others. I take it, Lysa was the one to suck yours.” I grimaced at him hatefully, knowing he was winding me up so I would lose all sense of control. “And I take it, you were the one that send Lady Sansa off to the _Boltons._ How dare you slander me in front of Lord Robin? I was right all along! Wasn’t I?”

“I told you, we were set upon by a large force of Bolton men on our way to the Fingers.”

“You think I was a fool then, and you think I’m a fool now,” he darkly replied, and then suddenly raised his sword as if he wanted this conversation to end. “But we will see who is the last one standing.” He attacked me with quick movements despite his large size, and I felt my feet stumbling across the smooth hardwood floor since I was unaccustomed to the slickness of the armour underfoot. I lost traction suddenly, slipping backwards and Lord Royce seized this opportunity to dislodge the sword from my hand and use his great burly hand to grab a hold of my neck armour to lift me off the floor like I was some pathetic doll. He knew what he was doing, the sharpness of the armour penetrated the thin layer of skin underneath my chin, ultimately chocking me to death. I tried to fight back with my hands, but when he was so heavily armoured it was like trying to punch a hole through a wall. Straggling for breath, I looked at the corner of my eye to see my men were still watching. _Do they expect me to get out of this mess,_ I worried, and the fact that no help would come from them suddenly made the fear of me dying all to real. I used my boots to kick into Royce’s armour, and then flayed my arms around to beat him at the side of his head. _I might as well hit a rock,_ I surmised, and then opened my mouth to gargle out the one word that might save me: “Darin.”

In a matter of seconds, Lord Royce’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he slowly dropped me down to the floor as he lost his own balance. Darin stood behind him with a hilt of a borrowed sword in hand, apparently thrusting the end of it into the back of the man’s skull. “Thank you,” I chocked out, with my silver crested gloves rubbing the length of my neck achingly.

“Watch out!” he cried, and pushed me to the left, taking the heavy blow for himself. A sword pierced out of the center of his chest, the leather doublet and coat were no match from such a weapon. Everything began to move slowly, Darin crashing to the ground with his face pressed firmly to the floor; Royce rolling him over to take out his sword before he stepped over the half-dead body. I walked backwards and put on my helmet as best as I could, knowing I would need all the protection I could have by the devious look in Lord Royce’s eye. Darin was chocking out blood, shaking violently on the ground in his last few moments, and I won’t even be there to say goodbye. An anger seized me, and I found I had slammed my sword against Royce’s harder than before; not thinking clearly, I fought as hard as I could, letting out all my energy and stamina out as I kept the intolerable man on his toes. I should have been smart, but self-control had left me as I heard the painful moans of Darin. Tunnel vision kicked in, adrenaline pumping through my veins, flashes of my fight with Brandon Stark propelled me to this dangerous endeavour, and when a sudden opportunity to slash at Royce’s wrist came upon me I took it without a moment of hesitation. His hand was limp in his hand, sword crashing to the ground inches away from Darin’s cold dead body. My teeth clenched harshly, I slammed my sword into the side of the man, hacking at him severely till he lost his balance, and with a sudden uppercut I slashed at the side of his face to make the top of his head bleed until it poured over his eyes. I looked at him one last time, taking in his miserable appearance before I wrenched my sword at his face, and to my horror it pierced right through, killing the man instantly. With all my strength I had, I thrust my sword out of his skull and then shoved the dead man to the ground, since gravity was taking much too long for my liking. I looked over my shoulder to see my friend was dead, and the truth of it made a cold numb-like feeling spread everywhere inside of me. _He tried to protect me,_ I sadly pondered, and couldn’t find it in my heart to look at his bloody corpse any longer.

“Close his eyes,” I instructed Groff. I knocked on the chamber room door and wasn’t surprised to see Myranda open it eagerly. “Myranda.”

“Oh, Petyr,” she wept, and flung her arms around me. “You won! I feared you wouldn’t. Oh, but father has behaved most terribly.”

“Myranda,” I uttered in a cold tone of voice.

“I knew you would save me. I knew it!”

“Myranda,” I breathed out tiredly, as I was still catching my breath.

“But let me take off your helmet,” she cooed out with excitement, and let her hands rub all over the side of my half-drenched cheeks that were still dripping with blood. “You look just like a knight, Petyr. A knight from the Vale,” she exclaimed with fervour, as her lips hovered just over mine. “If Lord Robin could see you now, he would have a nervous fit,” she giggled, and was about to kiss my lips when I laid a heavy hand on her chest.

“Myranda, did you play any part in this?”

“Of course not,” she laughed out airily. Her eyes scanned the soldiers behind me, to prove to me she knew something about this well planned out betrayal after all. “Petyr, you know how much I love you.”

“Do you?” I asked, wanting to play her little game for a moment more.

“Oh, I know you have your fun with Sansa but-” The rest of her words were cut off, I had stabbed an unseen dagger into the center of her chest. The woman’s mouth opened wide, hovering close over my own as she attempted to mouth something into the air.

“You’re just as guilty as he was,” I condemned her. “The _Royce_ name dies today.” I let her go, watching her fall backwards onto the plush carpeted floor, and then left her to shut the door softly behind me. “I must find Sansa,” I announced to the soldiers, and then bent down low to lift the cold corpse into the air and lay it across my arms.  With a tired step forward I led the way, hoping to get to my wife’s secret quarters before my enemies found out my clever deception, it was only a matter of time until they figured out the truth.

 


	85. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish thought his days were done, but the gods have given him a second chance. Now that he is alive and well, will he finish what he started and win the game of thrones? Or will the Starks betrayal lead him to a life of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nearing the end of my story :(
> 
> Enjoy the last of the climb.
> 
> petyrbaaaeeelish

**Sansa**

Heavy knocking pounded on the door, and then I heard Petyr yelling out, “Sansa!” at the top of his lungs. I ran towards the door, ignoring my maid servant’s entreaty to wait one more moment and threw the door wide open with a long swing until it crashed on the wall beside me. I covered my mouth, caught off guard by the smear of blood spread across the whole of his front armour. Darin laid out flatly in his arms, his hand limp and dangling from side to side as Petyr solemnly brought him into the room. There was a squeal behind me, and Darin’s mother pushed me aside to take a hold of her child. “My son!” she screamed out and laid the boy’s head upon her breast. “My beautiful son,” she wailed, and instantly burst into tears.

My eyes watered as I watched this scene, and it only grew worse when I realized that Petyr’s eyes were exactly the same.

“Daaarrrrinnn!” the old woman cried out, and her body trembled violently as she dragged her fingers through his thick hair. Petyr held up the boy’s body, making it look like the Darin could still stand on his own two feet.

One of the guard’s lightly closed the door behind Petyr, making it look like they would stay on guard until they were needed.

Eva wrapped her arms around me from the side, needing some comfort from this heart wrenching scene. “He was so young,” she chocked out, and then began to burst into tears. I patted her on the back lovingly, wanting to consul this woman who had been so kind to me from the start. “So young.”

“He was a good man,” I added, and then covered her face in the side of my breast as she let out deep throated tears.

Darin’s mother went down on her knees, bringing her son with her until he was laid out flatly on the ground. Her hand inspected the chest wound, seeing the evidence for herself that he was stabbed in the chest. “What happened?” she weakly asked, without looking up at Petyr.

“He saved me.”

“How did it happen?”

“I was attacked.” He looked up at me, and I could tell there was more to the story that he was unwilling to reveal. “The man that did this is dead.”

“It will not bring back my son.”

“No, it won’t.” He bent down on one knee and positioned himself close to the old greying woman as he added, “But I will bring justice to the people who did this.”

“There was more than one.”

“There was a mutiny,” he confessed. “I was betrayed by my own men.”

“And Darin had to suffer for it.”

“Darin did what he thought was right,” he exclaimed with a depth of feeling. “Everything happened so fast… there was no way we could protect ourselves.”

“But he died honourably?”

“Protecting a King and a friend. Yes, I would say that is honourable. I will hold a great funeral for him, and his name shall live on for generations and generations in the House of Baelish and Stark.”

“Then you honour my son greatly.”

Petyr laid a comforting hand on the old woman’s shoulder. I could see how far this man had come, a person that was once so selfish and manipulative had learned to care for others. He was a changed man, and this man that was now my husband stepped forward with arms opened wide. I let go of Eva’s embrace, and instantly fell into my husband’s arms, accepting his wet kisses almost immediately. “I thought I lost you,” he hushed, and held me all the tighter.

“I’m right here.”

“Oh, Sansa, it was so close.” His armour was hard against my skin, but I didn’t care how it nicked and pierced my sensitive skin. He was here, and that was all that mattered.

“Petyr, what happened?” I asked, once he moved his head away and I saw how watery his eyes were. “Tell me?”

“It was awful,” he confessed. Petyr shook his head angrily and squinted his eyes with pain as the memories came flooding back to him. “All this time we were worried about who would betray us, and he was in front of our faces all along.”

“Royce?”

“Royce,” he confirmed. “How many lives have been lost because of it?”

“Our people are strong. The North will rise again.”

He smiled at my words, and then leaned forward to kiss my lips lovingly. I let it stretch out for as long as I could, and then scattered his messy locks all over the place once he drew his face away. “Petyr, you have blood everywhere.”

“Battle wounds,” he teased, and then shot me a dashing grin. “Am I the knight you always dreamed of?”

“No, you’re better.” He kissed the top of my brow with pride, and then turned his gaze back to Darin’s dead body that his mother was crying over. I patted Petyr’s chest, hearing the armour rock from my touch. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry you lost a friend today. A _good_ friend.”

“I feel like all that work has gone to nothing.”

“No,” I hushed, as I laid my hands on either side of his friend. “It taught you to be a better man. It showed you what it would be like to be a role model… a father.”

“A father,” he echoed with a wave of excitement.

“And you’ll be a good one.”

“A father,” he repeated with the lids of his eyes nearly shut.

“I want a son, Petyr.”

“We’ll have one.”

“I think you need one, more than you’ll ever realize.”

“What do you mean?”

“Its your way of making amends,” I told him in truth, and then leaned forward to peck his lips. “Trust me.”

“I trust you,” he hushed, and quickly encapsulated my lips with his own to give me hurried kisses. I wanted to fall into his arms, but now was not the time. I stroked his cheek fervently, and then lowered my eyes to his smeared chest that was covered in blood. “The war is far from over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to see if the rest of Winterfell is contained. Some of the Golden Company snuck in, but not all. We have to do everything we can to make sure it stays that way.”

“Can I help?”

“I want you to stay here.”

“I feel useless.”

“Your time will come,” he promised me. “And then you will do something I will never be able to do.”

“Like what?”

“Give birth to our child,” he answered me with a fiendish grin. “You’ll have your fair share of pain.”

“Thanks,” I said with sarcasm, and quickly turned my face to the side so he could only press his lips over the side of my cheek.

“I love you, Sansa.”

“I love you too, Pete.”

He waited for me ever so patiently for me to turn my gaze to his own, and then I let him kiss me for the last and final time.

* * *

Petyr did not return to me until late that night. “The North is yours,” he breathed though the narrow crack of the door, and then laid his steel hand upon the wooden surface to push it wider. His shadow slipped through the crack, and then he closed it behind him with the flanks of his soldiers in my line of view. His steel hands clasped the sides of my arms, and I felt his breath linger over my mouth as he stared at me in the dark. “We’re safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve had the Golden Company rounded up and executed this evening. We found the traitors that let them in… I ordered them to be hung by a noose tomorrow morning.”

“How many were there?”

“Seven.” I let the woolen scarf fall from the top of my head, feeling there was no more need to hide that infamous shade of red from him. The room was dark, there was no candlelight in view, but a full moon shined through the cracks of the curtain to let me see his silver armour glisten under the moonlight. His armour was clean, not a hint of blood upon it. His face was clean as well, but I could see the tired bags around his piercing blue eyes. They were sharp as ever as he took in my countenance, scanning each way to make sure I was okay. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“No.”

He turned his head to the right, examining the bed that the old woman was sleeping upon. “Fran, managed to fall asleep.”

“She cried herself to exhaustion.”

He let out a low sigh, which I felt at the bottom of my chin. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child.” Petyr lifted his eyes to glare into mine. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am.”

He nodded his head in understanding, dismissing the worrisome thoughts that seemed to plague his mind. “I have a guest room set up for us, will you come?”

“Certainly.”

“I need rest,” he voiced aloud, and then pecked the side of my cheek softly to assure me he was okay. His hand was cold and hard when I took it in mine, feeling it was almost inhuman as he clenched his fingers around the back of my hand. The side of his cape billowed in the air to graze against the front of me, it was clear he was so very different than the man he was before. The sound of his sword clashing against his silver armour rang through the air softly with each step, and when he opened the door, I could see his entire form dazzling in silver from the hallway candle lights. A group of ten men followed us down the hall, and Petyr spoke not a word as he held me close to his body. “Open it,” he asked of me, once he held out a key in the air in front of me. I took it from his steel gloves, and inserted it into the lock to open the unknown door. “Hand me a candle,” he demanded from a guard, and then made sure I held it in my hand as well before I stepped inside. “Sedric and Ethan you wait outside our doors for the night, the rest can have a good night’s rest until morning.” He spoke something in a softer tone of voice, and then shook each of his guard’s hands before they wished them goodnight. I was inside the room trying to ignite the candles in the room, and then I fluffed out the bedsheets to make it look more livable. Petyr stepped inside silently, locking the door behind him before he walked over to my side. “I’ll need help taking this off.”

I smiled softly at him, wondering if this was all a dream. “I hope I look better than Loras,” he teased in a tired voice.

“You do.”

“I never liked you paying attention to him.”

“I can imagine.” His cape was unclasped first, and then I walked away from him as I rolled it neatly between the palm of my hands. I set it down on a chair, and then returned to him to see him dutifully watching me.

“Have you done this before?”

“No, but I’ve seen my brothers do it,” I confessed. “And father.”

Petyr nodded his head slightly, and then stretched out the palms of his hands for me to remove his gloves first. “I’ll have to take a bath.”

“Eva will be fast asleep.”

“Do you think you can do it?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Sansa.” The second glove was removed, and he instantly raised it to cup my cheek. There was something changed about him, so soft and warm he was almost recognizable. He learned the difference between life and death, perhaps, or maybe it was something else entirely. “Your people are safe.”

I kissed him lightly on the lips as a thank you, and then patted down the front of his chest to show how well pleased I was.

“Take off the sleeves,” he ordered, and lightly informed me where the straps were located, so I could unclasp them one by one. They were heavy once I took off the whole sleeve of his right arm, feeling the weight of it as I was forced to hold it with both hands.

“You must be tired with this on.”

“More than you’ll ever know.”

I laid it flat down on the table and then returned to remove the sleeve of his left arm. It was his breast plate next, and I had to learn to untie the straps at the top of his shoulder to remove it. Petyr was silent all the while, though I felt he was entirely in the moment. He lifted off the breast plate himself, and then leisurely walked over to the table to lay it over the top of it. He remained there to undo his belt and worked hard to remove the lower half of his armour as well. “Can you do my boots,” he asked with a crack to his voice, and I knew another thought was plaguing him. The sound of his sword unsheathing from his case ignited the air, and when I looked up, he was holding it just over my head with his blade tinted with a gruesome shade of red. He had killed a man today, maybe even more than one. The evidence was there, and when he held it up to the moonlight to closely inspect it, I knew he could see each and everyone of their faces. Petyr killed for me, our family, the entire North; it wasn’t for his own manipulative gain, but a sacrifice for someone other than himself.

With a steady hand he sheathed it back in place, and then began to untie the long leather strap that was hooked around his waist. He practically tossed it atop of the table, making a loud sound that would have caught the attention of the guards. Was he angry now, or was it something else that drove him to such an extreme?

“Petyr?” He rubbed the insides of his hands together, and then lifted them atop of his head with grief. “Petyr.”

“I just need to rest,” he lied. “Finish the other boot, Sansa.”

“I’m nearly done.”

“I will only sleep for a couple of hours. There is still a lot that needs to be done.”

“You’ve barely slept at all.”

“It can’t wait.”

“Petyr, how are you expected to lead when you’re practically sleep deprived.”

“It can’t wait,” he droned.

“You are important too, Petyr.” He looked down at me, and then took a step back so his boots can slip out of the metal casing. “Run the bath for me,” he ordered, and then turned his back to me to head towards the window.

It took a long time preparing the bath, and even longer to get it to the right temperature. There were no orange peels to toss into the water, a thing Petyr rather enjoyed as of late. None of his oils were here either, so I imagined he would be in a bit of a mood by the time he was done. By the time I entered the main room, Petyr was seated on one of the chairs with his head in his hands. “Petyr,” I hushed, as I tried to hide back the tears in my eyes.

“Yes, love.”

“The bath is ready.”

“Thank you, love,” he almost droned, and then inched his head away from his hands at a painfully slow pace.

“Petyr?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk?”

He coughed into the cold air, and then raised himself out of the chair. “No,” he droned, and then steadily walked in my direction. He offered me a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “You can go to sleep now.”

I never answered him, and instead took his hand in my own to tug him towards the bathroom. I unhanded his sturdy leather doublet, untying it quickly with nimble fingers. Petyr’s eyes were foggy with tiredness, though he let it stray downwards to watch my moving fingers. Eventually he raised his right hand up and pulled out a smile vile-like container from his inner pocket, wrapped tightly in a thick cloth until a familiar bottle was revealed. “I’ll need this rubbed all over me,” he muttered in a droll sort of voice.

“I’ll do it.”

He nodded his head wearily and was thankful when the front of his doublet was fully undone. Petyr slouched it off his shoulders, and then pulled off his thin beige shirt that he wore underneath that was damp with sweat. His pale skin was covered in nasty blotches, showing he had taken heavy blows all across the front of his chest and sides of his body. There were more bruises over his arm, and one nasty one on top of his shoulder. He winced in pain as I laid my hand over one, letting out a tiny grown in dismay.

“Oh, Petyr,” I groaned, and grabbed the back of his head to pull him into my chest. I held him there, letting my hand smooth over his bare back to comfort him the best that I could. He was strong all day long, wore a face of fiercelessness, but now his true nature was revealed, and Petyr was brave enough to show it to me. “Come, the water will get cold.” He snuggled himself onto my breast a little longer, so I smoothed my hand over the whole of his back in a loving manner. I felt his sigh go throw my thin nighting gown and lay over my cold skin. Petyr moved his head back, eyes squinting shut as he as he raised himself tall. “Your pants.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, and then loosened his belt in front of me to undo his pants. I lathered kisses on the side of his cheek, trying to cheer him up the best I could. My fingers got lost in his hair, breathing in his natural scent mingled with his sweat from the strains of the day. His hair was unbelievably soft, and thick underneath the tips of my fingers. And his eyes, once they looked down at me was the purest blue with tiny specks of grey around his darkened orbs.

“I love you, Petyr,” I said from the depth of my heart, taken back of all that he had done for me. He dove his lips against mine, forming it naturally over my own in a hurried manner. Hands slipped around my back, bringing me forward until my chest was crashed against his. My fingers wandered along his back, feeling his muscles bulging underneath my hands. “Pete,” I breathed out in ecstasy, and then worked my hands down the bindings of his pants to reveal him in full. He kept kissing me as I worked my hand down his cock, stroking it downwards deftly to bring it to life. I was used to the feeling now, the roughness on certain folds and slickness in others. My thumb rolled over his tip, smoothing it over as he practically bit his teeth over my bottom lip. I let one hand go and pulled down the remainder of his pants for him to slip his feet through. Onwards we went across one end of the bathroom to the other, until I smashed into a wall. Arms wrapped around his neck, I let him grind his growing hardness against me, feeling the sensation even through my dress and small clothes.

“San,” he voiced aloud, and inched himself away with a quirk of his upper lip. He bunched up my dress near my hips and kept at it until the dress slipped all the way upward to have my legs fully revealed. “Take off the rest,” he murmured, and waited for me to slip off my small clothes until I was fully bare to him. “Hold on to me tight,” he warned, before I felt him prodding my opening. “I’m not going slow this time.”

“I never thought you would.”

I spread my legs out more, leaning against him as I felt him pressing me against the wall. He hoisted me up into the air slowly, and then dipped his head upwards with a look that demanded I kiss him. I closed my eyes with delight, and then formed my lips over his own. He crashed into me, grinding himself into my opening without remorse. I was already wet for him, and he used it to his advantage as he inched his way deeper with rhythmic movements. I continued to connect my lip over him, occasional pulling it away to catch my breath after a heavy thrust. “Ohhh,” I said with pleasure, and then brandished my lips over his in a possessive manner. My hands dragged over his chin, scuffing up the greys of his beard to feel the friction bristle over the palm of my hand. I found my tongue hovering out of my mouth, licking the bottom of his chin and going upwards till it went over his lips. He kissed me opened mouthed instantly, taking my tongue into his mouth where he jabbed his own against mine. Petyr began to devour me whole, while thrusting himself deeper into my womb. I moaned into his mouth, nails dragging down the side of his neck. “Pete!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, thankful that we were in the bathroom instead of the bedroom for once. _I don’t want to look at the guard’s when I see them in the morning._ “Oh!” I screamed as I reached the climax, head raised to the ceiling as I couldn’t take anymore. My back slammed into the wall, and Petyr let himself stay into me as he released his seed into my wound. His breath was haggard and loud, and I felt it blowing against the front of my neck; Petyr kissed the area soundly and then breathed into it for his own pleasure.

He let me settle to my feet, though he kept himself inside of me as I gave him a tight bear hug. I never wanted to let him go, not ever.

“I think its too late for a bath,” he joked in a groggy sort of voice.

“I worked hard to get it warm for you.”

“Your body is better,” he promised me, and then kissed the side of my nack with a prominent sound. “So much better.”

“I made you feel better?”

“Yes, Sansa,” he said with sudden glee.

“Then… that is all that matters,” I stated over his lips, and then pressed it against his until he ended up kissing me. I loved him so much, it almost hurt sometimes. Petyr pursued to kiss me breathlessly, his hairs from his goatee scratching the side of my face. _He needs to shave,_ I thought, but enjoyed it all the same. He inched his head away while he tried to catch his breath, and steadily pulled himself out to let himself drip down on the floor in between our feet.

“Bath?”

“Bath,” he muttered, as he held his limp cock in his hand. “And you’re joining me.”

* * *

Two days had passed, when a horn had blared from the top of the castle, and I heard the roars of thousands of my men charging out of the Eastern Gate. I ran towards my window, trying to see anything that would show me what was going on. My view was obscured, and I had no idea what was going on except that the Northerns were outside the castle wall and attacking the Golden Company on leveled ground. Petyr had never consulted me on this, so I could only assume this was a last-minute decision. Something that he would rarely do.

I heard a banging on the outside of my door, and Eva came out of the bathroom to run towards the door. “Is the Queen here?” a familiar voice inquired, and I immediately ran to the doorway as well. “Sansa?”

“Varys? What is wrong?” He flapped out his sleeves to reveal a pair of empty hands; there was no message for me, unless it was to come from the Spider’s own lips. “Varys?”

“Your husband had sent out a signal to attack.”

“Is he…” I turned my head to look over my shoulder. “…is _Petyr_ out there?”

“No.”

“What?” I stammered out nervously. “Where is he?”

“He stands upon the battlement watching the fight for himself.”

“Why?”

“He is not needed… _yet._ ”

“You sound like my husband.”

“Your husband has a plan.” He blinked his eyes slowly, carefully watching every expression coming across my face. “The men of the Vale were sent out first. It appears they want to make amends for themselves, proving themselves worthy of the King’s respects. Lord Royce has blemished their reputation, and they want to fix that.”

“Good,” I stated in a stony voice. _Every possible series of events are happening all at once, live that way and nothing will surprise you._ “And the Northerns? Have they raised their banners as well?”

“The Northerns are at the gate, waiting for their orders. The Unsullied are lined up just behind them, we will strike them in three waves.”

“And the Vale are on their horses,” I mused aloud. “Let them crush them like they did at the Battle of the Bastards.”

“That was Lord Baelish’s plan.”

I motioned Lord Varys forward, and offered a chair for him to take a seat. He waited for me to be seated as well, before he offered a harmless smile. “You have something else to add?”

“I’m not sure if his choice is entirely a wise one, or why he sent me here to relay the message to you.”

“I cannot understand the makings of my husband-”

“-no?” he cut in.

“What are you implying?”

“Only that it is strange that he never consulted you on the matter.”

“I trust my husband.”

“Why?” he drawled out slowly.

“Because he is my _husband._ ”

“All that time he lied to you, to everyone-”

“-are you trying to turn me against me?”

“No,” he said with sternness to his voice. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Is that all? If it is, I suggest you leave me.”

“Sansa, I only care for your well-being.”

“Leave me, Lord Varys.”

“He told me if things do not go according to plan, then you will know what to do. You do know what to do, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I will tell him that I sent the message.”

“Don’t bother coming back.”

“Sansa,” he pleaded, and raised a hand as if he wished to touch me. “I know you love him very much, but I still think you should watch out for that man. You know who he is, do you really think he can change his colours?”

“Leave,” I ordered, and raised my hand to the door for him to get my meaning.

“Your Grace,” he added with a bow, and then flapped out his cloak as he left me.

 _Why must everyone want to try and separate us? Why must they be so determined to bring up the past?_ I banged my fist into the heavy wood of the table, and then scraped back my chair to charge over to the window. _Why must I stay here like a maid in a watch tower, while all my men fight for me?_

“Eva! Bring me my warmest cloak. Now!”

I was out the door in a matter of minutes, charging the guards at the door to follow me. There was no way in hell, I would hide in my chamber room while my men are out there fighting. Men in the hallways looked at me with surprise, since I had been locked in my room for the past few days. “Where is is my husband?” I demanded, and they were quick to show me the way. _If I was present at the Battle of the Bastards I can be present for this,_ I thought, and gladly let one of my men lead me up the stairs that would take me to the outer walls of Winterfell’s battlements. The cries were loud as I ascended the stony steps, and I couldn’t help but have a flashback of that fateful day; the way my brother, Rickon, sprinted for his life across the open plain, narrowingly missing the arrows propelled by Ramsay until…

“Your Grace,” a loud voice spoke to me from behind, with hands catching me just before I fell. “Are you alright?”

I shook my head to get rid of Ramsay’s sinister smirk and tried to slip back into the present moment. “I’m fine!”

The guard unhanded me, and then nodded his head before he continued to step up the rugged stony steps. _I will not let that happen again,_ I told myself, and was thankful at least Jon wasn’t in command.

The steps were long, but during that time I considered the exact words I would use to my husband. It would be harsh, I knew, but I deserved to know if my men were going to war. By the time I reached the last step my face was flushed, and I could barely breath from the exertion. “Your Grace,” one of the Unsullied observed, and motioned for my guards and I to follow him. The sounds of swords clanging together rang through the air, followed by the angry screams of soldiers as they fought one another. I looked over the parapet to see the Vale’s army swarming our enemies in a tightly knit circle, while others rode across the outskirts hunting down those bastard soldiers that ran for their lives. The flag of the falcon waved in the air, their silver shields dazzling in the daylight.

I felt a touch on my arm, and then turned my head to see a line of men watching me. One of the Northern guards had his hand resting on my forearm. “He is just over here, your Grace.” I followed him blindly, feeling in a daze by the screams of men beneath the castle wall. A horn blasted in the air not to far from me, and I heard the creaking of the Eastern Gates as it rose upwards. “That is wave two,” the guard in front of me stated, and then patted his hand on one of the Unsullied to pass me over to him. “Got to go!”

I watched most of the Northern men leave me, jogging towards the entranceway that would lead to the long descent of steps. The wall felt empty once most of them were gone, and the few remaining soldiers leaned over the parapet with bow and arrows in hand. “Stand on guard!” I heard my husband roar, and then I lifted the ends of my dress to sprint over to him. “Sansa?”

“Petyr!”

“You should be inside,” he spoke out in fear.

“You never told me!”

“Sansa,” he anxiously replied, fearing I would scold him in front of his men. “You never told me we were going into battle.”

“I saw an opportunity and I seized it.”

“At what cost?”

“Sansa, are you seconding guessing my command?”

“No, but-”

“I know what I’m doing.” He stood there proudly, his dark emerald green cloak flapping in the northernly winds while gentle snowflakes descended upon his head. He looked almost regal in his new armour, all glistening with a silver sheen as he stood in front of me. “I swear I will protect you.”

I hated when men promised me that. No one could ever protect me, even if they wanted too.

“Sansa, you should go inside. All I need is one spare arrow in the air and it could end everything.” He laid his steel hand over the side of my arm and leaned into my space. “I want you _safe._ ”

“You should have told me.”

“They looked weak. I sensed it… I knew this was the time to attack _and_ I did.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

He looked over his shoulder, to see the endless array of soldiers behind him. His blue eyes darted forward to see the Unsullied standing behind me, as if they expected an order. “I’m not wrong,” he bellowed in a deep voice. “See for yourself.”

I was led over to a parapet, where Petyr positioned himself to protect me if needed. I looked down to see the Vale’s army had dispersed to the outer regions, and it was now the Northern men marching across the frozen road of King’s Road. _They won’t be able to escape,_ I realized, seeing our soldiers outnumbered them greatly when we ran this strategic formation. “And after this, I will let the Unsullied have a turn. Close combat is their speciality, I have heard.” He smiled lightly at me, as if this was all a part of his cunning scheme. “The Northerns are proud! I thought they should have their taste of blood first.” He positioned himself to be between the wall and myself, holding his hands on either side of me as he leaned in. “You should not be here.”

“I was angry.”

“Yes, I can tell.”

“Varys upset me.”

“Varys upsets everyone,” he teased, and pecked his lips softly on my brow. “Will you have me send him out the castle gates as well?”

“No, even Varys doesn’t deserve that.”

“He cares for you,” Petyr proposed with a quiver of a smile. “I once thought he was interested in men, but experience has told me even Varys cannot be susceptible to a _pretty_ face.”

“What are you saying?”

“I have everything I ever wanted, and Varys… has only a cock, or lack of.”

“Petyr,” I scolded. He responded by wrapping an arm around me and keeping me close to his chest.

“Now, go.” He kissed the side of my check with a chaste movement, before he inched away. “Will you have me escort you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked me in a low raspy voice. His face was incredibly close, probably pleased to have me by his side again.

“I want to be here.”

“No,” he droned. “I won’t risk it.”

“Petyr.”

“You are too precious,” he urged. “No, you will stay inside with a muster of guards if needed.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Sansa.” He knew I was displeased, but he was determined to keep his plan. “Let this not be the last time I see you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t speaking of you.” He had his hand over his hilt now, and I could tell he was just itching to unsheathe it. It was clear he desired to go outside the castle walls as well, the only question was, what was holding him back? “A King should take part in a battle.”

“You’re not ready for that.”

“No?”

“Petyr,” I pleaded in a soft voice.

“Go, Sansa,” he commanded in a kingly voice, a tone he had never used on me before. “Stay safe,” he uttered, and with that he turned and left me.

* * *

The smell of burning flesh filled the air, mixed in the with the scent of wood and the sound of crackling fire. Petyr and I had attended countless funerals for the burning of our men, but this was the first one that had so few people surrounding the large firepit.

I held his hand tightly, knowing he was putting on a strong face for all to see. There were eight in total: Eva, Tyrion, Varys, Samwell Tarly and his wife, Darin’s mother and then my husband and I. Darin’s mother, Franny, stood closest to the burning fire with a white cloth in her hand to dab at her eyes. Petyr let out a low sigh, trying to hide back the sorrow that continued to overwhelm. _He keeps blaming himself, but it wasn’t his fault._

 _It could be him laying upon the blocks of wood,_ I noted, so I will accept this situation as it is- selfish as it might sound.

Twilight was upon us, a dark shade of red rested over the horizon and poked through the stalk white trees just outside of Winterfell. It had been days since our victory, but it still hadn’t hit Petyr and I yet. _We were free,_ I remembered. The Golden Company are defeated, slaughtered by our men- even Petyr had a hand in it. I turned my head to the man next to me, noticing how low the lids of his eyes were as he started into the crackling fire. He had been numb all day, and it was only getting worse. _I wish I could make him happy._

I squeezed his hand tighter to get his attention. “I’m happy you’re here.”

He nodded his head at me softly, and then averted his gaze back to the fire where Darin’s mother was currently on her knees. “I want him to be remembered,” he hushed under his breath. “A section of the Northern Citadel will be dedicated to him.”

“Darin would like that.”

“Uh, yes,” was the only thing he could stammer out. “If its okay with you, I don’t feel like going inside just yet.”

“I’ll wait with you.”

He bowed his head to kiss my gloved hand, and let a sad little smile play upon his face. “I love you too, Sansa.”

We were one of the last to leave, and it was only the broken-hearted mother that remained in the snow to stare at the dwindling flames. I was cold, and took shelter in my husband’s wings, still unaccustomed to the hard armour he wore everyday. The metal was cold against my face, so I lifted my head upwards and rested over the side of his cheek. “Winterfell is safe,” he muttered under his breath. “The North is yours.”

“Just like you promised.”

“Just like I promised,” he hushed into the top of my head. “You should pray.”

I lifted my head, and then led him towards Franny so we could say our last goodbye’s. Petyr was worried to leave her, but I knew the old woman needed some time alone. Petyr’s hand in mine, I led him deeper into the forest to seek out the sacred tree. “You know my father and mother used go here,” I piped up in a voice that showed I had somehow recovered. “And now I do the same with you.”

We walked through the dense forest, Petyr’s hand on the hilt just in case we encountered any danger. The moon was gone tonight, leaving the forest in an eerie darkness. I wondered if it was wise to be out here alone, but I knew I was safe with him. Petyr was my protector, my lovely knight, and I knew no harm should come to me when he was by my side. The great Weirwood tree came into view, the only thing that made me feel like I was truly home. The blanche white stalks were immovable in the gentle gust of wind, but the blood red leaves tossed and turned with every breeze that blew past us. Petyr’s hair blew in the wind as well, it had been rather long lately, since he hadn’t had time to cut it. His goatee was fuller as well, making him look older in the faint lighting of the forest. I looked forward to growing old with him, to spend the rest of our lives together. “Pray,” he prompted up, and let go of my hand so I could touch the tree.

“Won’t you pray with me?”

“Well, I…”

“Petyr?”

“I will do my best,” he chuckled, and then stood by my side with one of his hand resting over the belt to his sword. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then let us do it together,” he said in a sly sort of voice, and then in unison we raised our hands to touch the tree.

A flash of bright white light came into my view, a vision was being formed, clearer than I had ever imagined. “Petyr,” I heard myself saying, my voice ringing with laughter. “You’ll wake her up.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed, and then looked down at the child at his knee. Our son was there, holding onto the back of Petyr’s hands as he held up a book. Long black hair laid on the front of Petyr’s chest, and bright blue eyes blinding with happiness shined at his father. “Let’s see,” he voiced out in good humour. “Where were we?” Petyr inquired, as he let his finger roam around the page.

“Should we gather more winter roses?” my son asked me, looking over his father’s outstretched arm to catch my eyes. “For Roseanna?”

My jaw dropped, it was the first time my son managed to say his sister’s name in full. Petyr had lowered his book as well and wore a broad smile as he stared at his son. “You did it!” he shrilled. “My boy did it,” Petyr laughed, and leaned the boy forward so he could smother our son’s cheeks with kisses. “Say it again.”

“Rose-an-na.”

Petyr laughed heartedly, and then turned the broadest smile in my direction. He looked so proud, it made my heart warm beyond measure.

“Yes, we will gather more roses for her tomorrow,” I told my son, and then looked down to the open crib where my hand was currently resting. There was my beautiful daughter fast asleep, with the same bright auburn coloured hair as myself. _Just like I always wanted._

 


End file.
